Not Just a Cop
by J.D. Cunegan
Summary: Kate Beckett is one of the NYPD's brightest homicide detectives, but she also harbors a dark secret - one that not even she was aware of until recently. She leads a double life of sorts, subjecting herself to horrors and conspiracies unlike anything else in the world. And once she saves bestselling author Richard Castle from certain death, things get even hairier.
1. Chapter 1: Glorious Purpose

_**Author's Note: Apparently, I'm a glutton for punishment - because on top of the other three on-going fics I have on here, and the three novels that are currently in-progress, I've started another multi-chapter fic! This one is a crossover between **_**Castle_ and the Buffyverse (I listed _Buffy_ for archive purposes, though as you'll be able to tell, I borrow heavily from _Angel_ as well. My three favorite TV shows all mashed up together in a massive AU fic that I can already tell is gonna be a blast to write. I hope it's a blast to read! Enjoy, and please review!_**

* * *

Interrogations didn't usually take place at four in the morning.

Then again, Kate Beckett wasn't like most detectives. In the nine years she'd spent working Homicide at the Twelfth Precinct, she'd lost count of the number of times she was the first detective to show up for the day. Even more often, she was the last to leave at the end of the day. More times than she cared to admit, she stayed overnight, letting one day bleed into the next.

To some, she was hyper-vigilant. To Captain Roy Montgomery, she was personally driven. To her best friend Lanie Parish, who spent her days in the morgue tending to the wrongly deceased, she was nothing more than a workaholic.

Fact was, every theory carried with it a nugget of truth. Not that Kate would ever give anyone the satisfaction of knowing that. Let them have their theories; so long as she put killers behind bars, that was really all that mattered.

Kate pushed her way into Interrogation 1, her hazel eyes burning a hole in the manila folder in her grasp. The young detective had a yellow pencil tucked behind her right ear, her hair short with hints of red and flared out at the ends. Her jaw was set, lips forming a thin line of concentration. She ignored the bald man sitting at the table, content to let him stew in the humid uncertainty of the room.

Interrogation was usually ten to fifteen degrees warmer than the rest of the building, and that was on purpose. The idea was to get anyone in this room as uncomfortable as possible, yet another tactic Kate and her team employed.

At this hour, there was no one in observation, and the cameras had been turned off for the night. That suited Kate just fine – so much so that when she slapped the manila folder onto the table, she also disconnected the wire attached to the microphone in the center of the table. The bald man flashed Kate a look of confusion and concern, and she allowed herself the tiniest of smiles.

Yet she refused to sit. Instead, Kate pulled the pencil from behind her ear and tapped the eraser against her open palm. She regarded the man with a quirked brow, biting on her lower lip. Silence hung between them for a beat, maybe two – silence was one of Kate's favorite interrogation techniques. Ryan and Esposito hadn't yet mastered it; as of now, it was her trick and her trick alone.

"Esteban Vargas." Kate shook her head. "Funny thing, you being here. Rap sheet says you're pretty familiar with cops. Nothing major, just some petty B&amp;Es and some larceny from your teenage years. But see, here's where it gets interesting." Kate leaned forward, pressing her index finger into the manila folder. "Three years ago, it's like you just…disappeared. Poof, without a trace."

Something dark flashed in Esteban's eyes, and Kate saw the slightest uptick of his mouth in a snarl. His muscles flexed, his hands balled into fists. She smirked and straightened her posture, twirling the pencil between her fingers. "I have three eyewitnesses that _swear_ you were at our crime scene two nights ago. I have a sworn affidavit that you sliced open Miguel Castadon's neck in that alley, and yet there is no physical evidence. No fingerprints. No trace DNA. Nothing. Not even any blood, which is odd."

The snarl returned. "Guess dat means I didn't do it."

Kate leaned forward again, the darkness in her eyes matching his. She leaned in until her face was inches away from his. Esteban didn't flinch, but his nostrils did flare, and she could see his shoulders tensing. Her gaze narrowed. "Really. Then how come I can smell his blood on you?"

"What?!" Esteban's face scrunched in disbelief. "Lady, you _loco_!"

"Am I?" Kate rose from her seat and began pacing again. "Because if I'm crazy, then so is the witness who saw our sketch artist." She produced a pencil drawing from the manila folder, a face-on shot of a man who looked remarkably like Esteban. "I mean, I think there are a few inaccuracies myself, but still, even you have to admit the resemblance is striking."

"You got _nuthin_' on me, lady." Esteban sank deeper into his chair, folding his muscular arms over his chest – stretching his dirt-stained white tank top to the fabric's limits. "You can't arrest me for shit."

"You're right. I can't." Kate shrugged. "Because truth is, we don't have laws to deal with people like you. And I used the word 'people' loosely."

More confusion and anger. "Lady, what're you—"

"Cut the crap, Esteban." Kate was hovering over the table again, her face inches from Esteban's. The stench of death wafted off of his pale skin, and Kate was silently thankful for her strong stomach. "I know what you are. So what say you come out and play, hm?"

Esteban shook his head with a chuckle. "Trust me, _chica_, you don't want dat."

Straightening once more, Kate smirked as she flipped the pencil into the air and caught it. "Try me."

Esteban snarled, and the sound morphed into a primal growl as he pushed himself out of the chair, muscles flexed and hands balled into tight fists. He bore his teeth, fangs springing from his upper gum as his dark eyebrows gave way to hard ridges, firm recesses of dead skin framing yellow, feral eyes.

Kate watched the metamorphosis with a bored grin, shaking her head once Esteban growled again, a trail of spit falling to the floor. "There, was that so hard?"

Truth be told, Kate knew Esteban was a vampire as soon as she laid eyes on him in that alley two hours ago. Everything between then and now had just been for show – and sometimes, using the resources her badge afforded her to take care of business proved beneficial on all fronts. This was one of those times, considering this monster just so happened to intersect with her most recent murder investigation.

Esteban snarled again. "You ain't no cop…"

Kate rolled her eyes and flashed the badge that was attached to her hip. "Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD." Darkness flickered in her eyes, and the woman crouched into a defensive posture, the pencil clutched tightly in her right hand.

Esteban finally lunged toward Kate, and she ducked his right fist, slamming her elbow against the back of his head. The vampire's momentum caused him to stumble face-first onto the cold floor, just missing the table. Esteban was on his feet by the time Kate closed the distance, grabbing the hem of her white blouse and shoving his right fist into her stomach.

She doubled over with a gasp, before an uppercut to the chin sent her barreling back into the table, breaking it in two and causing it to collapse on top of her. Esteban pushed the broken table aside, bearing his fangs under the harsh light before grabbing Kate by her collar and headbutting her.

Blinking the blood out of her eyes, and doing her best to ignore the throbbing in her jaw, Kate answered Esteban's headbutt with one of her own. She relished in the sound of the vampire's nose breaking, but not as much as she enjoyed being released from his grip. She pushed Esteban back to the corner of the room with a flurry of punches, her hands a blur as they connected with his stomach and his ribcage.

Esteban doubled over in pain, trying to brace himself against the assault. He gritted his teeth and sucked in a deep breath that he didn't really need before pushing back against Kate's fists and grabbing her left wrist. He grinned before licking his lips and bringing her wrist to his mouth.

Kate waited until his fangs were inches from piercing her skin before she jammed her pencil into his chest. It sunk just far enough, and she could hear the telltale _shunck_ of her makeshift weapon hitting its intended target. Esteban released his grip on Kate's wrist, his eyes wide with shock and fear.

"Oh." Kate flashed a smug grin. "Did I forget to mention I'm also a vampire slayer?"

Esteban disintegrated before he could answer, leaving behind a cloud of ash, dust, and soot in his wake. Kate coughed and shook her head, brushing off her blouse before doing the same to her arms and hands. The janitor could vacuum Esteban away, but Kate would have to figure something out about the table.

Fortunately, Montgomery wouldn't be in for another four hours. She had time.

Officially, Miguel Castadon's murder would likely go unsolved. It would eventually become a cold case, little more than a box stuffed on a shelf somewhere deep in the bowels of the precinct. But Kate felt confident that she had actually dispatched of his killer, and even if the state of New York didn't see it that way, she enacted justice on Miguel's behalf.

She wouldn't be able to give Miguel's family that same comfort, though. They would likely go the rest of their lives not knowing who killed him, and for that, Kate was sorry. She knew all too well what that felt like, and she became a cop in part to make sure others never had to carry that burden.

So as much as Kate liked being able to handle New York's more unseemly elements, she hated that she could do so in a strictly unofficial capacity. Sure, the monsters were slain, but what of those the victims left behind?

Returning to her desk, Kate plopped herself into her swivel chair with an exhausted sigh. Resting her elbows on the wooden surface, Kate buried her face in her hands, giving herself a few moments to fight off the sleep threatening her eyelids. She could already feel her bruises healing, the soreness seeping out of her, and yet the fatigue remained.

Her shift was set to start in another three hours; she couldn't afford to go to sleep.

She needed a shower and a change of clothes. Coffee from somewhere other than the break room would also be nice; she'd make a run later that morning, once Ryan and Esposito showed up. But until then, she had one other personal comfort in mind.

Opening a drawer to her desk, Kate smiled as she pulled out a hardcover book, black silhouettes stark against a red backdrop. Leaning back into her seat, Kate released a contented sigh, her finger trailing over the spine of the book before she peeled open the front cover and started reading.

The book? _Storm Fall_ by Richard Castle.

* * *

The New York offices of Wolfram &amp; Hart were the largest, most sprawling, and most influential on this side of the Atlantic, and that power had only grown in the three years since the destruction of the Los Angeles branch. The Senior Partners had erred in handing the keys to that branch to a sworn enemy – what they thought would be a corruption from within wound up being their undoing.

Fortunately for the Senior Partners, such things were temporary. So, too, was death – as attorneys Lindsay McDonald and Lilah Morgan could attest. Lilah was roughly four or five years removed from her death, including a beheading at the hands of someone she might've considered a lover in different circumstances.

Lindsay was back in the fold with the law firm, the Senior Partners' one-time hotshot now their loyal servant – mostly because of his earlier betrayals. After all, the incantations burned into his back made sure that he would never walk out on Wolfram &amp; Hart ever again.

So the two sat in the ornate conference room, their backs to the window that overlooked the Manhattan skyline. Lindsay wore his black tie loose around his neck, snarling as the pen trapped in his right hand flicked rapidly back and forth. Lilah maintained a perfect posture, brushing aside a strand of dark hair before flashing a polite smile at the man seated across from her.

"Rest assured, Senator Bracken," she explained, "everything is in order. The paperwork has already been filed with the SEC. This time tomorrow night, Future Forward will officially be a reality and you can begin your journey to the White House."

Lindsay offered a humorless smile. "And Wolfram &amp; Hart will be there every step of the way."

"That's good to hear." William Bracken straightened his red tie, leaning back in his black leather swivel chair. His hair was cropped close, and even seated, Bracken carried an aura that made sure everyone realized he was the most important person in the room. "After what happened in Los Angeles, I was worried this firm had lost its way."

The two lawyers exchanged a glanced before Lindsay straightened his posture. "I assure you, Senator, the Senior Partners have learned from their mistake. L.A. was a simple case of poor management. There are no such issues here in New York."

"Excellent." Bracken allowed himself a true smile, glancing over Lilah Morgan's shoulder to take in the skyline. The midday sun shone brightly against the Empire State Building, and it reminded Bracken why he enjoyed New York far more than D.C. Sure, the nation's capital had its charms, but it wasn't home.

Then again, home meant baggage.

"One more thing," Bracken announced, leaning forward and leaning his elbows against the conference table. "There's some…baggage that needs to be dealt with before I go public with this announcement."

Lilah cocked her head to the side. "What kind of baggage?"

"Joe Pulgatti."

The two lawyers looked at each other, before Lindsay regarded the Senator with a frown. "The mobster who killed an undercover FBI agent?"

"There's a file out there that says otherwise." Bracken gave the lawyers a knowing smile. "It's actually a lot more complicated than that, but the fact of the matter is, that file needs to be destroyed."

"Sounds easy enough, Senator." Lilah shrugged. "Do you know where the file is?"

"If I had to guess?" Bracken shrugged. "With one Captain Roy Montgomery."


	2. Chapter 2: Writer in Distress

**_Author's Note: Apologies for the length of time between chapters; apparently, juggling four fics at once wasn't such a great idea (but they will all continue to be updated until they are complete!). That, and I've been sick the last few days, and that'll sap your creativity in a heartbeat. Anyway, enjoy chapter 2 - and would a couple reviews kill y'all?_**

* * *

How many launch parties did one book need?

In the case of _Storm Fall_, the highly anticipated finale of Richard Castle's best-selling Derrick Storm series, the answer was apparently at least three. So he played the part, waving to his adoring masses while the DJ played some bass-heavy beat he didn't recognize and waiting for the open bar to be, well, open.

His posture stiffened when a leggy blonde approached him, Castle's smile turning into a grimace. He had two days' worth of stubble on his cheeks, and truth be told, the shades were hiding bloodshot eyes. Not that Castle was drunk or hung over – merely sleep-deprived.

_Storm Fall _had been a chore to write, and he was still feeling the effects of it.

The blonde in question – not an overly amorous fan so much as a preening and pushy publisher who also happened to be one of his ex-wives – leaned in, gritting through a smile. "I really hope you know what you're doing."

"Please, Gina," Castle gritted his own teeth, continuing to wave as the flashbulbs went off. "If this is another one of those _You shouldn't have killed off Storm_ lectures, can it wait until I've at least had a few drinks?"

Gina tugged on Castle's arm, leading him into a dark corner away from the revelers. She leveled him an annoyed – if not altogether menacing – glare. "You're doing this to spite me, aren't you?"

"O-kaaay." Castle lifted his sunglasses and rested them atop his head. "Is this blood-sucking ex-wife Gina I'm talking to, or blood-sucking publisher Gina? Cause half the time, I can't tell the difference."

"Black Pawn is _very_ concerned, Richard." Gina straightened the lapel on Castle's black blazer, her lower lip curling into a faux-pout. "Your manuscript for _Storm Fall_ was almost two months late, and it required more revisions than usual. Not to mention, you're killing off one of the company's most profitable characters—"

"_My_ character." Castle pushed Gina's arm away, his face morphing into a scowl. "Which means I can do whatever I want with him – including kill him, if I decide writing him is no fun anymore."

Gina scoffed. "Fun? You type on a keyboard and play laser tag with your daughter for a living. How much more fun do you need?"

His jaw set in annoyance, Castle had a ready-made retort when his phone rang. Thankful for the momentary reprieve, he glanced at the screen, his face visibly brightening when he saw his daughter's name on the display.

Flashing Gina one last biting, sarcastic grin, Castle pushed his way out of the back exit, breathing a sigh of relief once the constant thumping of the bass was little more than a muffled thud. He strolled into a back alley, careful to avoid puddles from that afternoon's rain shower as he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Pumpkin! Your timing is exquisite."

"_Another fight with Gina, dad?_"

"I wouldn't call it a _fight_," the writer protested, twirling on the ball of his right foot. "Just more crap about me killing off Derrick Storm and…do I really need_ three _launch parties for a book? I mean, shouldn't 'hey, there's a new Richard Castle book' be enough by now?"

"_Not if you wanna get trending on Twitter_."

"I don't care about _Twitter_," Castle was practically whining at this point. "I want writing to be fun again. I want to stop feeling like I'm going through the motions with everything."

"_Just be glad she's not asking for your next project._"

"Yet." Castle huffed. "How you doin', pumpkin. You get your homework done?"

"_Duh_." The sound of laugher on the other end of the line relaxed Castle immensely, and he couldn't help but smile. "_Just checking up on you now, making sure I don't have to expect someone else here in the morning._"

"No." Castle shook his head. "No, I don't think that'll be an issue. In fact, I probably won't be out too much longer. Might even make it home before you go to bed."

"_You alright, dad?_"

"Yeah, sweetie." Castle smiled, though even he had to admit it was far from convincing. "Just tired. I'll be home soon. Love you."

As soon as Castle hung up – and was busy trying to concoct a story to tell Gina about why he was bailing so soon on his own party – a loud crashing sound around the corner caught his attention. But it wasn't until he heard a blood-curtling scream that Castle truly flinched with a start, pocketing his phone and running off in the direction of the sound.

His instincts told him to stop, to turn away, but one thing Castle was never any good at was listening to his instincts. But once Castle rounded the corner and saw a male form hunched over a woman in a black cocktail dress, her head tossed back and her arms limp at her sides, he wondered if maybe doubling back was the prudent call.

Then Castle noticed the male figure with his face buried in the side of the woman's neck. Frowning, curiosity threatening to get the best of him, Castle slowly approached. He tried to keep his steps silent, thankful for the soft soles of his dress shoes, but as soon as inadvertently kicked aside a candy bar wrapper, the male figure rose with a grunt.

Castle stopped in his tracks once the male figure glanced over his shoulder. Yellow eyes framed by pale skin and harsh ridges, unlike anything Castle had ever seen before, and once the male figure dropped the woman to the ground and turned to approach Castle, the writer saw fangs in his mouth and blood on his lips.

"Holy Jesus!" Castle stumbled backwards, his brain telling him to flee even as his legs tangled up with themselves. The monster closed the distance between them far sooner than Castle would've expected, and when the male figure grabbed the writer's lapels, Castle could feel the fabric ripping.

The man snarled, and Castle gagged at the heavy stench of blood and death.

The creature snarled again, bearing its fangs. Of all the ways Richard Castle thought he'd eventually meet his end, in a dark alley at the teeth of a vampire wasn't one of those ways. In any other circumstance, it would make a great story.

"NYPD! Hands in the air!"

Startled by the outburst, and somewhat out of habit, Castle flung his arms into the air. The creature had released its grip on him, just as startled by the interruption. Castle glanced up from where he was on his back, seeing a tall, leggy woman with short hair holding a gun in both hands, the badge on her hip clear as day despite the darkness.

Once the creature looked up, and the woman got a better look at its demonic visage, she holstered her gun and reached behind her to produce a large wooden stake. The woman lunged at the monster, tackling it to the ground as Castle backed himself away from the fray. He was now content to just watch from the sidelines.

The woman got in several haymakers before the vampire used what little leverage it had to flip her onto her back, and now they were pummeling each other within inches of Castle. He watched in part awe, part disgust, eager for the last remnants of that stench to fade away. The writer even allowed himself a glance down the far end of the alley, sighing in relief as he saw the woman – the monster's original target – running into the night with a hand clasped to the side of her neck.

The creature leaned in with a snarl, before the woman headbutted it. The vampire growled and covered its nose with both hands, which was all the opening the woman needed as she jammed the large hunk of wood into the monster's chest. Shock registered in the creature's feral eyes, and it gaped down at the weapon in shock before exploding in ash and dust.

The stake fell to the concrete. Castle, not sure what else to do at this point, stumbled to his feet before extending an arm to the woman. She took it with a grimace, rising to her feet as she brushed the ashes off of her white button-down and black slacks. Castle noted her black heels with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Hey, uh…" He swallowed and chuckled. "Thanks, that was, uh…wow."

"Oh, you know," The woman huffed with a shrug, confident she'd gotten as much of the ash off as she could for now. "No big."

"_No big?!_" Castle scoffed. "Finding out vampires are real? I'd say that's _very _big!"

"Well, now you know." The slightest hint of a teasing grin came across the woman's face, but it was gone pretty much as soon as it appeared. "Just…no more dark alleys, okay?"

As the woman turned to walk away, Castle rushed toward her and stopped in front of her. "Whoa, whoa…hey." He placed his hands in front of himself. "Listen, miss, I appreciate you saving my life and all, and I was wondering if there was a way I could repay you. My name is Richard Castle, and—"

"I know who you are." Kate Beckett took one of Castle's hands into her own, shaking it and grinning slightly at how he cringed when she squeezed. "Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD."

Castle's eyes widened again. "Detective?!" He glanced over his shoulder. "After that display back there, that's all you're gonna give me? _Detective_?"

"That's all you need to know." Kate brushed past him, making sure his back was to her before another grin pulled onto her face, this one much fuller than the last. "You better get home now, Mr. Castle. Don't wanna chance another run-in. Oh, and by the way?" She glanced over her shoulder. "I should've let that thing eat you, killing off Storm like that."

Castle released another huff of frustration as he watched Kate wander off into the night, paying particular attention to the confidence in her stride and the way her hips swayed back and forth. Even the woman who just saved his life was giving him hell for his most recent career move – it was almost as if it wasn't his name atop the front cover anymore.

Almost like "_New York Times_ Bestselling Author" didn't mean anything anymore, either.

Turning to leave the alley, Castle stopped when he saw the hunk of wood lying on the ground. He knelt down to pick it up, grimacing when his fingers found the remnants of the vampire she'd just killed. He wiped the stake off as best he could before returning to his feet, turning around and holding it up in his grasp.

"Hey, you forgot your…" He frowned, realizing she was gone. "…stake."

Pocketing the weapon on the inside of his blazer, and deciding he just _had _to see this girl again, Castle fished for his phone and swiped his thumb over the touchscreen several times. He left the alley with the phone pressed to his ear, deciding he'd deal with Gina in the morning. Right now, he had to get home. For the first time in months, Richard Castle was going to write – not because he had to, but because inspiration had struck him.

The line finally connected after several rings, the dull tone interrupted by a lethargic and borderline annoyed British voice.

"_Bloody hell, what time is it?_"

Castle cringed as he crossed the street, glancing over his shoulder again. "Sorry. I keep forgetting you're five hours ahead of me."

"_Richard?_" Castle heard shuffling on the other end, as if the person on the other end had tossed the covers aside and was now sitting up in bed. "_Richard Castle? What are you-?_"

"I knew it! I knew they were real!"

"_I'm sorry?_"

"Vampires!" Castle's outburst elicited strange looks from a couple walking the opposite way along the sidewalk, but he ignored their glance. Castle was roughly three blocks from home, and he was practically jogging there now, with how excited he was. "I saw one tonight. About as up close and personal as one can get and still be alive to tell about it."

"_Well, then I say you're rather fortunate, Richard. But why couldn't this wait until a more…hospitable hour?_"

"Because I wasn't lucky," Castle lowered his voice, though the enthusiasm still carried. "I was saved…by a woman who fought like a cross between Black Widow and Van Helsing."

"_Are you sure?_"

"I have her stake in my pocket as we speak." As if sensing the voice on the other end would protest or express some form of worry, Castle placed his free hand in front of himself, though he knew the man on the other end wouldn't see it. "She left without it. I'd like to give it back to her."

"_What's her name?_"

"Beckett," Castle sighed. "Kate Beckett. She said she was with the NYPD."

Silence hung on the line as Castle crossed the last block and a half to his loft, and as he pushed his way into the lobby, the writer checked his phone to make sure the connection was still secure as he pressed the button to summon the elevator.

"Rupert." Castle checked over his shoulder again. "Rupert, what's going on?"

"_Are you interested in hearing a bedtime story, Richard? I think you might like this one._"


	3. Chapter 3: New Girl in Town

_**Author's Note: This is so much fun to write...y'all have no idea. Keep the support and the reviews coming!**_

* * *

Richard Castle supposed it was only fair that he wound up not sleeping the previous night, after so rudely awakening Rupert Giles at whatever ungodly hour it had been in jolly old London. But between his near-death experience, the realization that monsters were very real, and Rupert's little spin at storytelling, there was no way the writer was dozing off.

Which was why Castle had chugged down two cups of coffee while Alexis had eaten her breakfast. She thought he was hung over again, despite the fact that she had seen him come home the previous night, unfortunately sober – and there wasn't enough booze in the loft to get him drunk to the point of hangover.

No sooner did Alexis leave for school, Castle had sank back into the swivel chair in his office, the screensaver on his laptop taunting him: _You should be writing_. Setting aside his mug – working on cup number three – Castle queued up his word processor, his fingers starting to fly over the keyboard.

_Into every generation_…

_One girl in all the world…_

_She is the Slayer._

The mantra had been playing in Castle's head on repeat throughout the night and early morning, like the latest pop hit Alexis had discovered and downloaded onto her iPod. And yet, somewhere along the way, the rules had changed.

Castle's fingers were a blur tapping over the keys, his tongue poking slightly out of his mouth. As he wrote, Castle thought of the battle of Sunnydale – some tiny little west coast town he had never heard of – and how the Slayer of the time (named _Buffy_, of all things) had devised a way to share her power.

One Slayer became many Slayers.

Apparently, he had encountered one such Slayer last night.

For some reason, the idea of a homicide detective who also fought back the forces of darkness intrigued Castle – to the point where he was in the beginning stages of creating what he hoped would be Derrick Storm's replacement.

Then again, he'd tried something similar not long after finishing _Storm Fall_. He'd created a homicide detective based in Baltimore who had undergone a secretive government experiment during her military days, and now spent her nights doubling as a costumed vigilante. Castle thought the idea had potential, and it was definitely a departure from his spy thriller days, but Gina laughed it off and told him to try again.

He was half-tempted to do just that – with another publisher.

The stake Castle picked up from the alley last night was on the desk to his left, and he caught it out of the corner of his eye. The rhythmic tapping of the keys stopped, and he sat back in his chair while grabbing the weapon and taking a closer look at it. The wood was chipped around the edges, and the point was dulled. If Castle leaned in for a closer look, he'd find specks of dried blood from the occasional off-the-mark staking.

He wanted to give it back to Kate – somehow, he figured she would want it back – but aside from the fact that she was a detective, he wouldn't know how to get a hold of her. Given the sheer number of detectives in the city, let alone the number of precincts, he wasn't sure how he'd find her.

The proverbial needle in a haystack.

Unless…

Grabbing his phone with a sly grin, Castle leaned back in his chair and pressed the device to his ear. The smile broadened when the line connected. "Gwen! Good morning!" He nodded with a smirk. "My pleasure…hey, is the mayor in? Tell him Ricky's got a copy of _Storm Fall_ with his wife's name on it."

* * *

_LaGuardia…_

If there was one thing Faith Lehane hated, it was transatlantic flights – particularly those that took off before the sun rose. The fact that this flight took her to one of America's busiest airports, in one of its most rambunctious cities, was even more annoying. No amount of caffeine in the world could shake off the fatigue as she waited for her bag.

Hell, even the crawl of the conveyer belt threatened to lull Faith to sleep. She stood, waiting for her bag, decked out in a black leather coat slung over a red tank top and navy blue skinny jeans. Her black combat boots were loosely tied, and Faith's dark hair framed her pale face.

The sun had never been her friend. Faith had two settings: ghost white and burnt to a crisp.

As much as Faith didn't want to come to New York, she had to admit it was better than Cleveland. Then again, resurrecting Sunnydale would've been better than Cleveland. Still, Faith wasn't sure what she was going to accomplish in the Big Apple, mostly because she figured a city of this size and importance would already be crawling with Slayers.

But if the Council needed her in New York, New York was where she went.

Grabbing her bag – a standard-issue military sack – Faith hoisted it over her shoulder. If nothing else, Faith was only a few hours from home. She hadn't been back in Boston since her teenage years, before things went so horribly awry in her life, and Faith would be lying if she said she didn't hope for the occasional trip back to the land of the Red Sox and chowdah.

First thing's first, though: Faith had to get to her hotel – she loved that the Council spared no expense – check in, maybe squeeze in a nap or several, and contact Giles. He'd promised more in-depth instructions once Faith got stateside, and she was anxious to know what they were.

Faith glanced at a large billboard as she wandered toward the taxi loading area. It was red and black, promoting a new book that had just been released: _Storm Fall_ written by a man named Richard Castle. The brunette smirked and shook her head; she had sat next to a woman on the plane reading that book, and her weeping over it had been annoying.

Tossing her bag into the trunk of a waiting taxi, Faith climbed into the backseat and gave the driver the address to the hotel. Glancing out the window on the driver's side, she watched the city pass them by. Curiosity was threatening to get the better of Faith, so she fished the phone out of her pocket.

She couldn't call Giles – not with the taxi driver within earshot – but she knew she had another avenue. She opened the Skype app on her phone and her thumbs whisked easily over the touchscreen.

_Made it to NY – what's the sitch?_

The response was almost immediate.

_New Slayer – info has been emailed to you._

Faith was just about to check her email when another text message pinged.

_Glad you made it. Be safe, Faith._

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

Truth be told, the coffee in the break room was horrendous. It was like a monkey peed in battery acid. Yet, given the long hours and hectic nature of working homicide, there were days where that was all the caffeine Kate Beckett could get. It wasn't a grande skim latte, two pumps sugar free vanilla, but it would have to do.

Returning to her desk with two paper cups, she handed one to the well-dressed man sitting in the raggedy chair beside the desk before sinking herself into her own seat. Kate took her first sip, trying not to cringe too much before setting her cup aside and folding her arms over her chest.

"Mr. McDonald," Kate was trying to keep her tone even, but failed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Couple things, actually." Lindsey McDonald hoisted a black briefcase onto his lap, opening it and pulling out an overstuffed manila folder, making a point to ignore the steaming cup in front of him. "First of all, I sincerely hope Detectives Ryan and Esposito have a warrant to search my client's office, because I'd hate to see all that hard work go for naught."

Kate's eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward until her elbows rested on her desk. This wasn't her first rodeo with the clowns from Wolfram &amp; Hart, and though they liked to strut around, acting more important and intimidating than they really were, she knew better.

This one in particular was ripe for the picking.

"Really." Kate shook her head. "You're gonna come in here and lecture me on how we should do our jobs. You _do_ know who I am, right? You _do_ realize we have the highest closure rate in the city."

Lindsey shrugged. "Hey, you do your job, I do mine."

"Anything else, Mr. McDonald? Because I'm trying to solve this case, and any second now my detectives are going to walk through that door with your client in handcuffs, and I'd appreciate some privacy when I go to interrogate him."

"No, you won't." The smile on Lindsey's face lacked humor but was full on smug. "If my client was being brought in for questioning, I'd have heard about it."

"Don't you have an office, Mr. McDonald?"

"I do." Lindsey handed the folder to Kate, the smug grin on his face disappearing as something the detective couldn't quite place formed in his blue eyes. "I also have information on a new player in town you might be interested in."

Kate opened the file with a furrowed brow, studying the mugshot of a woman in her early thirties with pale skin and dark brown hair. Her hazel eyes scanned the particulars, her teeth raking over her bottom lip. "Faith Lehane."

"Escaped convict. Known murderer."

Kate's eyebrows arched, and she leveled a surprised gaze at Lindsey once she flipped to the second page of the file. "And yet it says here that she's been cleared of all charges – thanks in large part to your firm."

Lindsey shrugged, and whatever was in his eyes before darkened even more. His hands clasped together across his stomach, and Kate thought she noticed ink of some sort on his wrist. "Our L.A. branch has made some…questionable decisions over the years. I just thought you might want a heads-up about who might be causing trouble out there."

"Right." Kate rolled her eyes. "Because you're such a good Samaritan."

Closing his briefcase, Lindsey shrugged and stood. "Mock all you want, detective. But when it comes to Ms. Lehane, you and I are on the same side." He stopped before heading toward the elevators, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. "Nice elephants."

Annoyed, Kate's eyes flickered to the ceramic elephant statues on her desk – primarily, the group of four aligned from largest all the way back to smallest. They had been her mother's, on her desk for years. But they were Kate's now, and they were little more than a reminder of what she lost that cold January night after her freshman year at Stanford.

They were as much a reminder as the ring Kate wore around her neck.

She watched Lindsey disappear into the elevator before rising from her chair and approaching the white dry-erase board next to her desk. The murderboard was a collection of photographs, dates, and notes throughout the case they had been working on, and to the untrained eye, it was nothing but a random hodge-podge of information. No substance, just…randomness.

But to Kate, it told a story. Every murder was a story, a mystery that begged to be pieced together for the sake of those the victim left behind. She chewed on her lower lip again, giving all of the information another once-over, content that there was nothing to add until Ryan and Esposito got back with their latest suspect.

Flipping the white board over to the other side, Kate attached Faith Lehane's headshot to the surface, grabbing a red marker and jotting down a few of the particulars. Taking a step back, Kate capped the pen, chewing on her lip to the point where it almost split, shaking her head.

Something about this woman tugged at Kate's subconscious, and for some reason, she felt like she knew the woman. Kate was sure they'd never met, but when she looked into the dark, hollow eyes staring back at her in the photograph, Kate could _swear_ there was something familiar about her.

The sound of the elevator arriving startled Kate, and she turned the murderboard back over to show the particulars of their case. Kate tossed the folder onto her desk, a knowing smile on her face as she watched her two lead detectives pressing through the bullpen, accompanied by a disheveled man in an ill-fitting suit with his arms trapped behind his back.

Esposito gave Kate a smug grin, and the man in cuffs growled to himself as he stared at the ceiling.

"Good job, boys." Kate grabbed her notepad. "Put him in Interrogation 1."


	4. Chapter 4: It's Not a Bird

_**Author's Note: Keep reading and reviewing! This is so much fun to write...**_

* * *

Much to Richard Castle's dismay – and surprise – the mayor couldn't help him this time. Apparently, his request to locate one specific detective in the city, and his lack of adequate reason for doing so, was a bit strange – if not slightly stalker-ish. As big a fan as Bob Weldon was, Castle supposed there were favors even he couldn't cover.

Which left Castle with more unconventional options, and what was more unconventional than a private investigator who only kept nighttime hours? He'd found the address in the phone book – yes, those things still exist – his writer's curiosity piqued by both the unorthodox hours and the fact that this agency specialized in strange cases.

With any luck, "strange" meant supernatural.

It was almost midnight by the time Castle made his way to the fourth floor of the nondescript office building in Midtown, rounding the corner to his left before finding the door in question. It was cracked open, the name of the agency etched into the clouded glass window. Eyeing the name, making sure he was in the right place, Castle rapped his knuckles against the frame.

"Hello?"

The man sitting at the desk several feet from the door looked up from the book he'd been reading. His skin looked pale under the moonlight spilling in from the windows running along the wall to his left. Wearing a black button-down and black pants, the man sat up a little straighter, his brown hair standing up in the front.

"Welcome to Angel Investigations," the man announced, his lips curling into an awkward smile. "I'm Angel. What can I do for you?"

Crossing the threshold into the office, and taking a seat in one of the leather chairs sitting across from the desk, Castle reached into his black overcoat and pulled out the stake he'd found the previous night. "I'm looking for someone," he explained, holding up the weapon. "The owner of this, actually. I'm afraid she misplaced it last night."

Angel's awkward smile faded when he laid eyes on the stake, sitting up a little straighter in his chair and clearing his throat. "And how did this happen?"

"I was in an alley last night – I know, I know, alone in a dark alley at night, not the brightest idea – but I stumbled across a vampire attacking a woman, and the thing turned its attention to me instead." Castle's voice rose as he spoke, as if he was getting more and more excited in recalling the ordeal. "This woman swoops in, kicks its ass, kills it, and leaves without this."

"I see." Angel leaned back in his chair again, his right index finger trailing back and forth over his chin. "Does this woman have a name?"

"Kate Beckett."

Angel's shoulders relaxed and a smile crept back onto his pale face. "Detective Beckett."

"Yeah." Castle's brow furrowed in confusion. "You know her?"

"C'mon, what kind of PI would I be if I didn't have a working relationship with the police?" Never mind the fact that Angel's first experience with the police as a PI – all the way back to his early days in Los Angeles – had been something more akin to a disaster. Fortunately, his experiences with Detective Beckett had gone far better.

* * *

_Three years ago…_

Business had been slow for Angel Investigations, and Angel told himself that was simply because it was still so new. He'd only been in the Big Apple for six months, and after his ordeal with Wolfram &amp; Hart, it only made sense to eventually get back to his roots. It felt wrong doing this without his crew, his family, but the fact remained: there was no one left.

Wesley and Gunn were dead. Cordelia had passed long before them – though her picture hung off the wall behind his desk, a constant reminder of his need to fight the good fight and to never forget who he was.

There was no telling where Spike ran off to after the battle with the Circle of the Black Thorn; last he remembered, Spike was serving as a guide of sorts for Illyria. As had often been the case over the centuries, Angel was on his own – and truth be told, he didn't particularly mind.

The door to his office opened, and Angel looked up to see a thin woman, disheveled and bloodied, staggering into his space. Her hair was short with a hint of red, a trail of dried blood ran from her nose to her upper lip. The woman favored her right shoulder, her arms cradled over her stomach as she walked with a slight limp.

His eyes instantly went to the gold badge clamped to her hip, before he noticed the large-faced black watch on her left wrist and a silver chain around her neck. The woman lowered herself into one of the chairs across from Angel's desk with a cringe, tucking her legs under herself. By the time her tired eyes flicked up to his, Angel could see the darkness in them.

"Miss…"

"Are you Angel?" Tired though her eyes were, they were still full of determination.

"I am."

"I hear you handle the weird stuff."

Angel leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the surface of his desk. "Define weird."

"I don't know what I am." The woman stared at her hands, and Angel could see dust and ash caked into her nails. "I have trouble sleeping sometimes. Dreams. Vivid, horrible dreams. I've always – I passed the physical tests at the Academy with flying colors."

The woman rose from the chair, her right arm still cradled over her stomach as her left arm fell back to her side. She wasn't moving quite as gingerly as before, but her steps were still slow and methodic.

"Then tonight…I'm tailing a suspect, and next thing I know, I'm cornered in an alley by two…" She shook her head. "Bumpy foreheads. Yellow eyes. _Fangs_. Stench of death so strong _I_ gagged. I work Homicide; that smell hasn't turned my stomach in years."

Angel nodded. "Miss…"

"The strangest part?" The woman shook her head. "As strong as they were, I handled them. I kicked ass. Then they…" Her brow scrunched in confusion and disgust. "…exploded."

"Miss…"

"Detective," she clarified. "Detective Beckett."

"Detective…" Angel rose from his own chair, coming out from behind his desk before leaning against the edge of it. He carefully watched the woman as she paced back and forth, the limp she came in with almost completely gone. "I think I know what you are."

"Okay." Kate shrugged. "How bad is it?"

"It's…not bad at all." A sideways grin tickled Angel's ageless features. "You're a Slayer."

Her eyes widened. "A _what_, now?!"

"These dreams…women fighting monsters? The world ending? That sort of thing?" When the woman nodded, chewing on her lower lip, Angel stood and crossed to the bookshelf by the windows. "They're not dreams so much as visions. What you're seeing are the battles of other Slayers, past and present."

"So I'm not the only one."

"No, you're lucky." Angel grabbed a book off the shelf, a heavy volume with a leather spine that had been caked in dust. "Time was, we only had one Slayer in the world. Thankfully, that notion's rather…antiquated."

Kate took the book with a frown, surprised at how heavy it was. "How many are there?"

"We don't know. But I'm pretty certain you're one of them."

"Wow…" Kate's eyes took in the ornate text in the book, the pages yellowed with age and frayed from years of use. She shook her head, her eyes not truly taking in the words on the page. She always prided herself on logic, taking what was in front of her and using that – and only that – to reach her conclusions.

It had served her well to the point where she had one of the NYPD's highest closure rates. It served her well in life in general, but despite all of the evidence in front of her, Kate couldn't bring herself to truly believe this.

Kate Beckett, superpowered monster hunter?

Yeah, right.

"I understand this is a lot to take in," Angel said, handing Kate a business card. "If you have any more questions, or you just wanna talk, feel free to call me. I kinda specialize in this sort of thing."

Kate took the business card, reading the top of it. "Angel Investigations." Her hazel eyes glanced at the logo on the side of the card, her head cocking to the side. "Oh, this is nice. Pretty little…" Her brow furrowed. "…bird?"

Angel blinked and sighed. "That's…not a bird."

* * *

_Present day…_

"I need to find her," Castle argued.

"Why?"

"To thank her for saving my life." Castle shrugged. "To give her back her weapon. Can't very well stake any vampires without a stake, now can she?"

"There's more than one way to kill a vampire," Angel said with a shrug. "Stake to the heart, fire, beheading…not garlic, though. That's a myth."

Grabbing one of the business cards off the holder on his desk, Angel flipped it over to the back before jotting some information onto the card. He slid the card across the desk Castle's way before sinking back in his chair, seeing something in the writer's eyes that told him this was about more than just giving Kate back her stake.

"She works Homicide," the vampire explained. "At the Twelfth. But you didn't hear that from me."

Castle pocketed the card and the stake with an impish grin before rising from his chair. "Thanks."

"Oh, and Mr. Castle?"

Castle stopped with a frown, wondering how the pale man seated at his desk knew who he was; he hadn't introduced himself. But as he turned to regard Angel again, Castle glanced at the bookshelf, immediately finding three of his books stacked on top of each other, _Unholy Storm_ at the top.

Ah, so that was how it was – the PI was a fan.

"Kate Beckett's not a tree I would go barking up," Castle warned with a smirk.

Castle cocked his head to the side. "And why's that? Cause of you?"

"No." Angel scoffed and shook his head. "You could write a book about how disastrous my relationships are. It's just…Beckett's a hard nut to crack. Not to mention the Slayer thing. You're better off just going back to your one-night stands. She won't be one of your conquests."

Castle smirked. "What if I wanna be one of hers?"

"Good night, Mr. Castle."


	5. Chapter 5: This Isn't What It Looks Like

_**Author's Note: Okay, preliminaries are (largely) out of the way now, so time to get to the real nitty gritty of this story. Hope everyone's having as much fun reading it as I am writing it, because this has been a blast so far! Reviews are much appreciated!**_

* * *

_Manhattan…_

If there was one thing Faith Lehane had grown accustomed to in her years of slaying, it was the stench of the newly dead. Sometimes the smell meant a vampire was near; others, it indicated a new victim. When she was first called, Faith hated the smell. She lost count of how many times she had to duck into the dark alleys of Boston to vomit after catching a whiff.

The smell didn't bother her stomach anymore - years of being surrounded by it, if she had to guess - but the Slayer still didn't like it. Maybe because it was a reminder of her past; then again, maybe it was just a horrible smell.

One that filled her nostrils at the moment.

Ducking into one of the seemingly thousands of alleys just in Manhattan alone, Faith pulled a stake from her denim jacket. The smell grew stronger with each step she took. Just because she wasn't in New York to stake vampires and fight demons, that didn't mean she wouldn't take the time to do just that. After all, New York was a big city. It was bound to have its share of nasties.

If nothing else, being on patrol also distracted her from her true reason for being in the Big Apple. Babysitting other Slayers was really not Faith's forte, and the fact that this particular Slayer also happened to be a homicide cop – Faith had some choice words for Rupert Giles about this mission, words she would have with him in the privacy of his office once she got back to jolly old England.

Faith would be the first to admit - to herself, anyway - that she wasn't the most reasonable person in the world when it came to law enforcement. She felt like she'd been granted a reprieve when she busted out of prison, and she thought she'd made good on that second chance by helping get Angel back and then helping close the Sunnydale Hellmouth.

Even if the idea of Angel wiping her legal slate clean was appealing, as some had told her in recent years, she no longer fully trusted him. If there was one thing Faith struggled with, it was moral quandaries. Everything in the early part of Faith's life had been cut and dry, black and white. This gray area stuff was still a hassle.

The smell grew stronger yet, causing Faith to scrunch her nose in disgust. She tightened the grip on her stake, training her ears for any sound out of the ordinary. The night was strangely quiet for New York, save a siren wailing in the distance. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the din of the alley; clouds covered the moon.

Faith felt her foot brush against something. She stopped in her tracks, the smell almost strong enough to make her gag. Her heart pounding in her chest, Faith looked down at the ground to find a foot no longer attached to its leg.

As her eyes followed a trail of blood, the dread washed over her. A human body, disfigured beyond recognition, sat propped against the brick wall. The face was practically burned off, the chest cavity gaping. The victim's flesh had been shredded off, its sternum snapped in two. The heart was missing. One lung sat in the victim's left hand.

"Ugh…"

The Slayer was about to kneel before the body for a closer inspection when the siren registered in her senses. The sound was louder than before, the whine growing closer. Faith swallowed a lump in her throat, her fingers trembling as she dropped the stake. Was it an ambulance? A squad car? Was it coming to the alley?

Faith stayed as still as she could, shaking and hoping the darkness of the alley would shield her. She closed her eyes, holding her breath as the siren built up to its loudest point, before the ambulance sped past the alley's opening and the wailing dissipated anew.

With a sigh of relief, Faith opened her eyes and managed to fish her phone from her jeans. She had to call someone about the body. She had no idea who, since as far as she knew, Faith had no contacts in the city. Then again, given the state the body was in, something told Faith this wouldn't be a garden variety murder. In point of fact, it was probably something more up her alley.

The Slayer had dialed 9-1-1 before a clicking sound from behind stopped her in her tracks.

"Freeze!" a female voice shouted. "Drop the phone! Hands above your head!"

Slowly doing as she was told, and hoping her hands weren't shaking too much, Faith swallowed hard. She closed her eyes, in part to fight off tears, and felt her legs growing weak. Faith could barely stand, her wind awash with all the possible ways this could end. None of them were promising.

"Turn around!"

The request didn't register at first, Faith's body remaining motionless.

"I said, _turn around!_"

With a flinch, Faith exhaled and turned around. Her hands shook, and the Slayer refused to look at the detective. Her breath grew ragged, and her cell phone buzzed on the ground. Faith's stake sat at her feet.

Kate Beckett held her gun as steady as she could, almost dropping it when she saw the woman's face. It was the same woman in the picture that lawyer had given her earlier that day. The sight of the woman standing in front of a badly mutilated body made the detective's stomach turn. She hated the idea of Wolfram &amp; Hart being right about something.

"Put your hands above your head," Kate ordered, placing her gun back in its holster and reaching for her handcuffs as she approached. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…"

Turning around, and cringing at the familiar tug of metal handcuffs slapping onto her wrists, Faith fought the urge to speak out, to announce the fact that she knew the woman arresting her. The head shot in the file Giles had sent her was unmistakable, and it appeared Faith was going to encounter this newfound Slayer sooner than she'd hoped.

The fact that their first conversation was likely to take place in an interrogation room didn't thrill her, either.

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

"You realize," Kate began, slapping a manila folder on the drab table, "how bad this all looks."

Faith kept her gaze squarely on the folder. She wasn't all that curious to see the inside of it - she probably already knew all the gory details - she just wanted to keep from looking at the detective. Something about Kate Beckett bugged her, aside from the fact that she was a Slayer - a Slayer with a badge, no less.

Her wrists cuffed, Faith went through all of her options. None were appealing. Call Faith a pessimist, but she didn't really see any way out of this. She figured her days were numbered when she left Los Angeles; in many ways, the Slayer was surprised she lasted this long.

"Yeah, well," she answered, "cut-up bodies usually aren't that pretty."

Kate took her seat with a sigh, opening the folder and flipping through the pages. Her dark hair flared out at the ends, the hints of red noticeable under the harsh light. A blue pen was tucked behind her left ear. She wore her badge on her hip, seemingly intent to let the whole world know how important she was.

"You've led quite the life, Ms. Lehane," the detective's hazel eyes were glued to the paper. "Three years in a women's correctional facility after committing at least two murders, only to escape in 2003 and flee to several different places. Sunnydale, Los Angeles, Cleveland, London…now here you are, in New York. How long have you been in New York, Ms. Lehane?"

Faith shrugged, staring at the floor. "Just got in yesterday."

"Hm." Kate took notes. Records provided by Wolfram &amp; Hart offered nothing to suggest why this woman was in New York. Kate's own guess figured if she was in London, that was where she would stay.

Kate wasn't about to tell Faith this, but the body found in that alley was the fourth such victim since the summer. If the dark-haired woman's version of events were true, then she couldn't have committed the first three murders – which ruled her out as a serial killer. But given the rest of the file…

"What were you doing in that alley?" the detective asked.

"Taking a shortcut to my hotel," Faith lied. "Hung out with some friends at a bar, decided to walk home. S'only a couple blocks."

"I see." Kate laid down her pen. "And do you typically carry sharp wooden sticks when you go out?"

"Yeah," Faith shrugged. "Not real big on guns."

The detective leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. The dark-haired woman was lying; she could almost smell it. Faith's body language betrayed every word she said - the shoulder shrugs, the constant eye movement, the hand-wringing. This woman was nervous, borderline frightened. Good. Suspects were usually more forthcoming when they were scared.

"You had a six-inch dagger strapped to your leg when we brought you in," Kate continued. "Is that correct?"

Faith nodded.

"Technically, I can have you arrested for that," Kate pressed. "I don't care if some law firm in Los Angeles wiped your file clean. You're a convicted felon in possession of at least one weapon, and I found you standing over a fairly gruesome corpse. Forgive me if I'm being harsh, Ms. Lehane, but you've killed before. Why should I think you haven't killed again?"

Before Faith could protest, a wave of anger washing over her, the door burst open. Faith's heart skipped a beat when saw a tall man stride into the interrogation room, black coat billowing around his broad shoulders and dark hair standing straight up in the front. Faith sat up a little straighter, her eyebrows scrunched together, her eyes twitching from the detective back to the man.

"Angel?"

The sound of his name interrupted Angel before he had a chance to say anything to Detective Beckett, casting a sideways glance with a confused glance before doing a double-take. "Faith?" He turned his gaze back to Kate, his pale features forming into a scowl. "Kate…"

"What are you doing here, Angel?"

"I could ask the same thing about her," Angel argued, pointing at Faith. "Don't…" His frown deepened. "She's not a murder suspect, is she?"

Faith shrugged. "Apparently, I am."

With a sigh, Kate stood and folded her arms over her chest. "We found her hovering over a badly mutilated body, Angel. Where I come from, that's pretty suspicious."

The vampire's eyes trained on the manila folder on the table, a chill running through his lifeless body when he saw Wolfram &amp; Hart's corporate logo stamped onto the cover. He grabbed for the folder before Kate could protest, ignoring her hand tugging on his shoulder as he flipped through the folder's contents.

For the most part, the folder contained information Angel already knew; after all, faith had been his personal redemption mission of sorts dating all the way back to his days in Sunnydale. But when Angel reached the page authorizing Wolfram &amp; Hart to release this information, and saw the signature of the man who authorized it, he replaced the folder on the table with a sigh.

"You're being played, Kate."

"Really." Kate quirked a disbelieving brow. "What, you gonna tell me Ms. Lehane's a Slayer, too?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "Actually, she is."

"Funny." Kate's glare of disapproval shifted back to the dark-haired woman. "I wasn't aware Slayers killed humans too."

Ignoring all matters of decorum, and momentarily forgetting she was in a police precinct, Faith pushed herself from the metal chair with a grunt, approaching Detective Beckett until Angel squeezed himself between the two woman. "Look, lady," Faith spat through gritted teeth, "whatever's in that file is ancient history. You wanna know why I'm in town? It's to find you!"

Kate frowned and glanced at Angel. "Me? Why?"

"Giles sent me," the brunette Slayer huffed, giving Angel a hopeful glare.

Kate's frown deepened even more, as if it were possible. "Who's Giles?"

"Rupert Giles," Angel answered. "He's…he runs the Council of Watchers."

Before the conversation could go any further, the door to the interrogation room opened again, Detective Kevin Ryan poking his head into the room. He gave Angel a once-over with a quirked brow, before turning his attention back to Kate. "Hey, Beckett, uh…hate to interrupt, but there's someone here who wants to see you."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Whoever it is, it can wait."

Ryan's eyes sparkled as he flashed Kate a teasing smile. "Even if that someone is Richard Castle?"


	6. Chapter 6: Favor

_**Author's Note: All I ask, dear readers (aside from reviews), is patience. Trust in the story and the places it will take everyone. Oh, and please leave reviews (yes, I know, I'm shameless).**_

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

"Mr. Castle, _what_ are you doing here?"

The Kate Beckett staring him down was not the one Richard Castle encountered two nights ago in that alley. The scowl was unmistakable, the annoyance etched all over her hazel eyes. Undeterred, Castle smiled at the sight of the detective, trying to ignore the tall man in the billowing coat behind her.

"Detective Beckett," he offered in a voice that was far too cheery for the glare she tossed his way. He held a white gift box under his left arm. "I just wanted to stop by and express my gratitude for the other night."

Stopping in front of Castle, and chewing on her lower lip, Kate folded her arms and narrowed her gaze. "You couldn't have just picked up the phone?"

"No," Castle countered, ignoring the confused and pointed glares directed his way from the rest of the bullpen. Uniforms and detectives alike were annoyed with him, though two of the uniforms by the elevator gossiped under their breath, arguing over whether that was actually the _New York Times_ bestselling author paying them a visit.

"Because if I did," he added, reaching into his jacket pocket before producing a large wooden stake, thick at the base and standing at roughly seven inches in length, "I couldn't give this back to you." He flipped the weapon in his grasp so the sharp end was pointed at the floor. "The only thing I can figure is, you're building a really small fence."

Her heart skipping a beat, and hoping beyond hope that none of her colleagues could see the weapon, Kate snatched the stake from Castle and slipped into the thankfully deep pockets of her dress pants. She shot Castle another glare, sucking in a deep breath. "Thanks. Is that all, Mr. Castle?"

"No, actually." He smiled ear-to-ear, which admittedly lit up his blue eyes, handing the box to Kate. "Consider this…a token of my appreciation."

Taking the box with a scowl, Kate opened the box, only to look down and find a copy of _Storm Fall_ staring back at her. She suppressed the eyeroll that tickled her features, cocking her head to the side. "Thanks, but…I already have a copy. Remember?"

The quip about how she should've let that thing eat him because he dared to kill off Derrick Storm? There was no way Castle would forget that – even among the pile of everyone else telling him how big a mistake he was making. Still, the smirk never left the writer's face, even as he nodded toward the open box.

"Yes, but that one's not signed."

Actually rolling her eyes this time, Kate flipped open the front cover and saw Richard Castle's autograph scrawled along the title page. Underneath it was a message: _To Detective Beckett, thank you for saving my ass the other night. Nice to know this place has honest-to-god superheroes. See you again soon._

Kate thought the message was sort of sweet – until she read the last sentence. Indignation on her face, Kate looked up to fire yet another barb at her favorite writer when she noticed him disappearing behind the closing elevator doors. Like an afternoon thunderstorm in southern Florida in the summer, Castle was gone just as quickly as he had arrived.

Kate flopped the open box on her desk with a frustrated huff, turning to return to the interrogation room – only to almost run into Angel's chest. She stopped just short of the vampire, though, rolling her eyes again.

"What are you doing here, Angel?"

"I was here to warn you about him, actually."

"Richard Castle?" Kate cocked her head to the side.

"But then I saw that you were questioning Faith," the vampire was far too adept at changing the subject for Kate's liking, but he closed the distance before she could protest. "Whatever you found, Kate, she didn't do it."

"Awful sure of yourself," Kate argued.

"I know Faith," he countered. "Whatever her past, it's just that: her past. Wolfram &amp; Hart is playing you."

"And why would they do that?"

"Because that's who they are," Angel's voice was almost a whisper at this point, and he hovered over the detective, his pronounced brow even more so under the harsh light of the bullpen. His jaw was set. "They tinker and meddle. They pull strings to meet their endgame, everyone else be damned."

"So what's their endgame?" Kate shrugged. "What do they want with Faith?"

Angel's seemingly perpetual frown turned pensive, and he shook his head. "Not sure it's her they want." He chewed on his lip – a habit he'd picked up since meeting the detective. "The lawyer you met with…did you get their name?"

Kate nodded. "Lindsey McDonald."

If it were possible, Angel's face went pale – well, paler than it already was. His eyes were wide, and he shook his head again. "That…" He shook his head again. No, of course it was possible; this was Wolfram &amp; Hart they were talking about. It also meant the firm likely knew he was in New York now.

This complicated matters.

The sound of a door opening interrupted their conversation, and Angel turned to see the captain of the Twelfth Precinct, Roy Montgomery, sticking his head out the door. "Angel," he greeted with a sideways grin. "Glad you're here. Can we talk…in private?"

Angel and Kate exchanged a confused glance, and Angel shrugged his shoulders. Kate stepped toward him, her trademark glare returning. "This conversation's not over," she warned. "But I still have a suspect to question."

* * *

_Interrogation…_

"Pretty unique friend you have there," Kate pointed over her shoulder before returning to her post across from the table from Faith.

"Angel's cool," Faith said with a shrug, studying the woman seated across from her.

"So," the detective offered with a shake of her head, "you say you're here to find me. Why?"

Again, Faith shrugged. "Not sure. Giles wasn't big on the details."

"Yet you know my name, where I live, and what I am," Kate countered.

"All based on intel from Angel."

Kate sat up a little straighter, confusion and a little anger flashing in her eyes. "Angel a spy for you guys?"

Faith actually laughed at that, shaking her head. "You'd think that, creature of the night and all? But…no." The dark-haired Slayer shrugged again, glancing toward the door. Kate had noticed that in her whole time in this room, Faith never bothered glancing at the two-way mirror. Faith had a reflection, so Kate found that a bit strange.

"Do you know what a Watcher is?" When Kate shook her head, Faith's mouth curled into a sideways grin. "They train Slayers. Big on books, research, all that boring stuff."

Kate's eyebrows arched. "And this Giles…?"

"Is a Watcher. Runs the Council now." Faith cocked her head to the side. "You're buds with Angel, I'm sure the name Buffy Summers has come up."

Kate smirked. "A time or two."

"Giles was her Watcher."

"So…" Kate shrugged and dropped her pen onto the open folder in front of her. "Why did he send you? Why not just send another Watcher?"

"Cause there aren't a lot of 'em," Faith explained. "And the world's overrun with Slayers now. Every time we think we know how many there are, we find more."

"But why me?" Kate shrugged again. "I mean, Angel's here."

* * *

_Montgomery's office…_

Angel sighed as he watched Kate march toward the interrogation room, catching a quick glimpse of Faith again before the door shut, Kate disappearing behind it. Shaking his head, Angel walked into Montgomery's office, glad the captain closed the blinds overlooking the city before he entered. Sunrise wasn't for a bit yet – the precinct was surprisingly busy given the hour – but Angel appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Angel shut the door behind him. "Roy."

Taking his own seat behind his desk, Montgomery straightened his pale yellow tie with a sigh. "Sit down, Angel."

Angel did so, careful not to sit on his coat in the process as he planted himself in the leather sofa across from Montgomery's desk. He took in the pictures behind the captain, older photos of his days as an officer and a detective, and a photo of Montgomery smiling side-by-side with his wife. The Montgomery in that photo was far more lively than the one sitting at his desk.

"I appreciate the arrangement you have with Detective Beckett," Montgomery said.

Angel frowned. "Sir?"

"I'm not naïve." Montgomery shook his head. "I know there's stuff out there most people can't comprehend. Hell, half my force would quit if they knew what was out there. But Beckett?" He shook his head with a smirk. "On top of being my best detective, she can actually handle those…_things_."

"That's great." Angel frowned. "But…what does that have to do with me?"

"I know what you are, Angel." Montgomery smirked at the look of alarm on Angel's face. "Please. It hasn't been that long since I was a detective. Point is, she trusts you. Probably more so than anyone in this precinct."

Angel watched as Captain Montgomery reached into a drawer in the top right of his desk, pulling out several stuffed officially marked NYPD manila folders. He noticed the crease in Montgomery's brow as he looked at them, his fingers trailing over the cover.

"I've held onto these files for almost fifteen years," Montgomery said, though it sounded more like he was talking to himself. "These files ever go public…"

Angel's brow furrowed, dread creeping in. "Roy…what's going on?"

"How much do you know about Johanna Beckett's murder?"

Angel frowned with a shrug, trying to act as if he wasn't fearful of where this conversation was headed. "Only what Kate's told me…which isn't much."

"Official NYPD report says it was a random act of gang violence." Montgomery shook his head. "The truth's much deeper than that. And it's all in these files."

Angel stood, his dread slowly seeping away, only to be replaced by something akin to anger. "So…you have information on who killed Beckett's mother," he mused, "information that she has desperately wanted throughout her career, and you've _sat on it_?"

"For her own protection," Montgomery argued. "The man who orchestrated it all is very powerful, far too powerful for us to reach him. The day the city of New York handed her a badge, we struck a deal."

Angel shook his head in disbelief. "A deal."

"The person responsible for her mother's murder leaves her alone, these files never see the light of day."

Angel bit back the snarl building in his throat. "What's the catch?"

"She couldn't investigate the case."

Angel rose from his seat and approached the desk, glaring at the black man with the thin moustache. He briefly felt the urge to shift, to show Montgomery his true face, but he suppressed it, instead shaking his head.

"You know how important that case is to her, Roy." Angel's nostrils flared. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"One PP is on my ass," Montgomery heaved a weary sigh. "I feel like I'm nearing the end of the line. I got a lotta baggage to carry, a lot in my past to make up for, and I wanna make this one thing right before my time's up."

"By lying to someone who trusts you."

"That lie is the only thing keeping her alive," Montgomery argued. "I need you to take these files."

"No."

"Angel…"

"Roy…" Angel's hands balled into fists. "You hand me those files, they're going in my fireplace…after I tell her about them."

Angel turned to walk out of Montgomery's office, his hand wrapped around the doorknob. He stopped and turned to face the man that he knew Kate looked up to, shaking his head again. "When I was in L.A., still learning the PI ropes," the vampire explained, "I was friendly with this cop. Also named Kate, oddly enough. But I kept secrets from her, and her life was worse for it."

"Angel…"

"Point is, I don't wanna make that mistake again." Angel approached the desk again. "Not with Beckett."

Montgomery cocked his head to the side. "You love her."

Without another word, Angel cast another glance at the stack of folders on Montgomery's desk, shaking his head before turning on the balls of his feet, pulling the door to the captain's office open, and disappearing into the night.


	7. Chapter 7: The Ropes

_Three years ago…_

Kate Beckett had always been drawn to this particular cemetery – at least, over the past decade-plus. At first, her reason for the constant visits was strictly personal; to this point, the detective could walk the path from her squad car to the headstone in question with her eyes closed. Her mother's name carved into the stone was forever etched in her mind.

But over the past two months, since finally discovering what she truly was, Kate's visits to the graveyard were more numerous – at least twice a week – and they were no longer just personal visits.

She still stood vigil over Johanna Beckett's grave, but she did so now with one eye on the rest of the property. Fresh graves were of particular interest to Kate, and on occasion, she managed to intercept a vampire before they could rise, staking them while they were still trying to pull themselves out of the ground.

No such luck tonight. As best as Kate could tell, there were no fresh graves.

So in front of her mother's final resting place, the detective stood, her arms curled against her chest to fend off the nighttime chill. Kate's breath was visible inches from her face, her hazel eyes dark with sadness. No matter how many times she came to this grave, no matter how much time passed since that fateful January night, the pain never lessened.

She felt the weight of her badge on her hip, moments like this making Kate wonder if she was really cut out to be a cop. Sure, she had one of New York City's highest closure rates, and she was the quickest woman ever to make detective, but the reason Kate became a cop – her sole purpose for giving up her dream of serving on the Supreme Court – eluded her.

Twelve years, and she still didn't know who killed her mother. The file – which she had read so many times that she sometimes recited its contents in her sleep – attributed Johanna's death to random gang violence. But that didn't sit well with Kate, no matter what the long-retired John Raglan or anyone else told her.

Near as Kate could tell, her enhanced Slayer abilities didn't make her a better investigator. Just a monster killer.

Her eyes drifted to the right.

"Sneaking up on a cop's a bad idea," she uttered with a straight face, though the tiniest hint of a smile finally crept onto Kate's face. "Can't imagine sneaking up on a Slayer's much better."

Angel emerged from the shadows a grove of trees had afforded him, a sheepish look on his pale face as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black overcoat. His steps were slow, methodical, almost as if he were careful not to disturb the ground as he walked. She saw his dark eyes from under his pronounced brow, the sadness and determination in them.

"Sorry," Angel shrugged as he stood at Kate's side.

"Were you following me?"

"You could say that," Angel said as he cast a sideways glance at Kate. She wasn't looking at him, keeping her gaze straight ahead. "Wanted to check up on you, see how you're coping."

"Coping," Kate repeated, as if she were chewing over the word in her head.

"Yeah, with the Slayer thing."

Kate shrugged. "Not so bad, really. It's actually sorta therapeutic."

Angel frowned. "What—"

"I have a hard job, Angel," Kate interrupted, though her eyes never wavered. "Lotta long hours, stress. In a way, hunting down vampires, killing them…it's a release of sorts."

It wasn't quite the same as having a stiff drink at the end of the day – something she tried not to let herself do all that often, given what happened to her father after Johanna's death – and it definitely wasn't as comforting as coming home to someone else. But for right now, for where Kate Beckett was in her life…being a Slayer, kicking ass was comfort food.

With a nod, Angel fixed his gaze straight ahead…which was when he saw it. What Kate had been staring at since catching him hiding behind the trees. If Angel's heart still beat, he figured it would've skipped one. He cast another sideways glance, tearing his eyes away from the headstone with the name Beckett etched into it.

"Kate…"

"My mother," Kate nodded toward the tombstone. "We were supposed to go to dinner together – my mom, my dad, and I – and she was gonna meet us at the restaurant, but she never showed. Two hours later, we went home, and there was a detective waiting for us. Detective Raglan."

Kate took a deep breath to steady herself. Angel could hear the crack forming in her voice.

"They found her body," Kate continued. "She'd been stabbed."

Angel shook his head. "A robbery?"

Kate shook her head. "She still had her money and purse and jewelry. And it wasn't a sexual assault, either. They attributed it to 'gang violence'." Kate shook her head with a scoff, and Angel could see the tears building in her eyes. "They couldn't think outside the box…so they just tried to package it up nicely. The killer was never caught."

Angel turned his gaze back to the tombstone. "That why you wear the watch?"

Kate lifted her left arm, showing the large black watch on her wrist. "My dad took her death hard. He's sober now." A tiny, sad smile crept onto her face. "Five years. So…this is for the life that I saved. And this…" Kate reached under her shirt to pull a silver chain with a ring on the end of it. "…is for the life that I lost."

Staring at the grave marker again, Angel finally felt like he understood Kate a little bit better. She'd been a mystery to him since the night she showed up in his office, bloodied and wanting answers. How she had fallen through the cracks was beyond Angel, and not even Rupert Giles was sure how she hadn't been on the Council's radar.

If Potentials were spotted in their preteen and teenage years, then the Council should've known about Kate Beckett even back when Buffy Summers was the only Slayer in the world. But there was nothing then, and certainly nothing now that the Council was getting back on its feet and dealing with a world teeming with superpowered demon fighters.

"_Vincit omnia veritas_," Angel read.

"Truth conquers all," Kate translated. "It was her favorite saying."

Well, wasn't that a tiny dose of irony; Angel couldn't help but smirk at that, turning until he was facing Kate. Seeing the look in her eyes, the way she closed off into herself over the turmoil that clearly still ate at her – Angel suspected that her mother's unsolved case had a lot to do with why Kate had a badge – Angel felt the urge to reach out and comfort her.

But that would've been a bad idea. On so many levels.

"There's, uh," he cleared his throat, "there's another reason I came out here tonight."

Kate finally tore her eyes from the tombstone, looking up at Angel with a look that was part confusion, part dread, and part fascination.

"There's something I need to tell you, Kate, but I need you to promise not to hit me first."

Kate rolled her eyes with a scoff – one that was suspiciously close to a smile. Which, considering they were standing in front of her mother's grave, Angel would take. Kate Beckett fascinated him, and if Angel was being honest with himself, he didn't know how to handle that.

"Angel, unless you're about to tell me you killed my mom, I think you'll be okay."

With a sigh, trying to rid himself of the last of his reluctance, Angel stood in front of Kate, positioning himself between the detective and the grave in order to get her full attention. Once she looked right up into his dark eyes, Angel curled his hands into fists – which was the point his face transformed.

Eyes turned yellow, bloodshot. His eyebrows gave way to harsh, defined ridges – pale lumps of flesh that smelled faintly of death. With Angel's mouth open, his fangs were noticeable, especially under the light of the full moon.

Kate took a step back with a gasp, her right hand instinctively reached for the stake hidden in her jacket. Angel placed his hands in front of himself in half-defense, half-surrender, but instead of grabbing for her stake, Kate lunged forward, tackling Angel as they both toppled over the headstone that bore her mother's name.

Before Angel could yell in protest, Kate's fist collided with his nose, breaking it. Another punch, then another…before Kate finally reached into her coat and pulled out her stake, her teeth gritted together and her breath ragged.

"You're _one of them?!_" she snarled.

"No!" Angel protested, though the demonic visage on his face said otherwise. "Okay, I _am_, but I can expl—"

With a grunt, Kate jammed the stake into Angel's left shoulder, lifting from her crouch and drawing her gun. As Angel sputtered and grunted in pain, reaching for the chunk of wood piercing through his skin, he felt the barrel of the gun against his adam's apple.

"I know you won't die if I pull the trigger," she said. "But it'll hurt." Kate cocked the weapon. "So…tell me the truth, Angel. Why are you tailing me?"

"I told you," Angel countered, releasing his grip on the stake and putting his hands up in surrender again as his face returned its human form. "Yes, I'm a vampire, but…" He sighed. There was really no way to say this without sounding incredibly hokey.

"I have a soul."

Kate arched a disbelieving brow. "Meaning?"

"Your typical vampire is a soulless monster setting up shop in a dead body," Angel explained, gritting as his shoulder throbbed in pain. "I used to be the same way. But I ate the wrong people once and they cursed me with a soul."

"So you're a good vampire now." Kate shook her head.

"More or less," Angel grit his teeth. "You're not the first Slayer I've worked with. And besides…" The vampire grunted and struggled against the weapon still buried in his shoulder. "Have you ever heard of an evil vampire who runs a PI firm?"

Grabbing the stake, Kate pulled it out of Angel, ignoring his pained grunt once the wound was exacerbated. She stood and pocketed the weapon before grabbing Angel's good hand to lift him back to his feet.

"Til a few months ago, I'd never heard of vampires period."

"Touche'."

Angel staggered alongside Kate as she left the cemetery, pausing long enough to place a loving hand atop Johanna Beckett's grave. He could feel the wound healing as they walked, and in all of his years, Angel would never get used to the physical sensation of a wound patching itself up.

"I'm sorry," he broke the silence. "About your mother."

"Don't be." Kate shrugged, opening the door to her squad car. "You're a PI, right? Help me."

Realization washed over Angel's pale features. "Kate…"

"You have resources I don't," Kate pleaded. "Maybe you can use your…I don't know, status to get to places and talk to people I can't. Please…" The detective crossed over to where Angel stood, grabbing the lapels of his coat. "I have exhausted _every_ official avenue I have, and I keep coming up empty."

Gently removing Kate's hands from his coat, Angel gave her a look that was equal parts apologetic and sympathetic. "Kate, I…I can't. I can't help you like that."

"What, you don't think I can afford you?" Kate shook her head.

"No." Angel glanced over his shoulder at the rows of tombstones. "Kate, the only way I would take this case was if I could deliver the murderer for you. I can't promise that. I'm not about to tell you I can do something I'm not sure I can do."

Anger flared in Kate's eyes. "Angel…"

"You have a badge because of her, right?" When Kate nodded, Angel took another step toward her. "You gave up whatever dream you had to get justice for your mother, and twelve years later…nothing. That's a pain I can't imagine, Kate, and I don't want to add to it.

"Look…" he added with a sigh. "I'll help you with the Slayer stuff. Monster research, weapons training, occult training, I'm your guy. But I can't help you with this."

Before Kate had a chance to react, Angel turned and walked off into the cold night air, his coat billowing behind him as his hands once again found station in the pockets. He ignored the roar of the engine and the squealing of tires as Kate drove off, undoubtedly furious at him – and to a degree, Angel was mad at himself.

But he couldn't bring himself to take on that case, because if he failed – if he hit all the same dead ends that she did – he wouldn't know how to handle it. Saving people was a lot easier when it was strangers. Helping the helpless was a noble mission when the helpless were people he'd never see again.

But Kate Beckett? The last thing Angel wanted to do was fail her.


	8. Chapter 8: Shadow

_Angel Investigations…_

One of the few bright spots of Angel's time heading the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram &amp; Hart was the discovery of necro-tempered glass; the windows of his office overlooking the L.A. skyline had been made with it, which allowed Angel to work during the day – and enjoy the view – without the sunlight affecting him.

So impressed with that glass, was Angel, that when he decided to get back into the P.I. game in New York, he made sure the skyline windows in his office were made with it. It cost him far more than he would've liked, but it was ultimately a small price to pay.

Besides, the view of Manhattan was pretty nice. Not L.A. nice, but still.

Angel sat leaned back against the edge of his desk, taking in the midday view of the city. He sipped from a clear glass in his right hand, thankful to have a fridge in the far corner stocked full of an assortment of blood from a local butcher. It was fresh, but most importantly, it wasn't human. Chicken blood and pig blood weren't necessarily as appetizing, but they provided him sustenance without the complicating moral quandaries.

He needed to call Giles. Angel needed to figure out why the Council had sent Faith Lehane to New York in search of Detective Beckett – only for the latter to find the former hunched over a pretty gruesome corpse. Angel knew how bad that looked, and given Faith's past, he understood why Kate had been suspicious.

But he also needed Kate to understand that Faith's past was just that. If nothing else, he had hoped reaching out to Rupert Giles would clear that up. But if he wouldn't pick up the phone, then Angel would have to wait.

Angel looked up when the glass-front door to his office opened, taking care to hide his glass. The last thing he needed to do was scare off a potential client with his dietary habits.

"Welcome to Angel Investigations."

Senator William Bracken closed the door behind him, taking in the office. It was relatively barren, aside from the plasma screen in the far corner next to a mini fridge and a bookshelf behind the desk. He also noticed the framed photo of a smiling woman behind the desk, a plaque underneath that read _We help the helpless._

"You Angel?"

"I am." Angel pushed himself off his desk and extended his right arm to shake hands. "What can I do for you?"

"William Bracken," he introduced himself.

Angel frowned. "The Senator?"

"One and the same," Bracken smiled, unbuttoning his navy blue blazer and straightening the red tie loosely resting around his neck. "I understand you specialize in unusual cases."

"More or less."

"I'm considering a career change of sorts," Bracken said cryptically, wandering around the space of Angel's office, examining the photographs hanging from the walls. The man in front of him appeared happy in the pictures, surrounded by another man wearing glasses, a bald black man, two smiling women (one of whom resembled the photograph behind the desk), and…a green-faced man with red horns.

Bracken quirked a brow at that, but said nothing.

"I'm sure you've heard the rumblings on TV," he added. "Everyone thinks I've got a fast track to the White House."

Angel quirked a brow. "Don't you?"

"I'd like to think so," Bracken said with a shrug, his hands in his pockets. "My approval numbers are high enough. Everyone tells me if I ran for a third term in the Senate, I'd get it. But I want more than that, but in order for that to happen, there's something I need to take care of first."

Angel folded his arms across his chest. "Guessing that's where I come in."

"There's a file," Bracken said, turning to regard Angel. "It contains very damaging information, both for myself and for a high-ranking official within the NYPD. I need that file retrieved, and I need it destroyed. Whatever you normally charge, I will pay double."

A smirk crossed Angel's pale face, and he shook his head. Stealing one more glance of the Manhattan skyline, Angel pushed himself off his desk, approaching the Senator with a discerning glare. The man definitely carried himself with an air of self-importance, and Angel caught the impression that William Bracken would do anything necessary to get what he wanted.

The vampire wondered just how far he was willing to go. Angel also wondered if the file in question was the same file Captain Montgomery had tried to hoist onto him the day before. He hoped it wasn't, but something told Angel he wouldn't be that fortunate.

"Listen, Senator…" Angel shook his head again. "I don't know what you've heard about me, but that's not the sort of work I do. I prefer my cases to be more…black-and-white."

"Really." Bracken quirked a brow and smirked. "That's a shame, because you were highly recommended."

Angel scowled. "By whom?"

"Lindsey McDonald." Bracken shrugged. "He said you were as reliable as they come."

No sooner did the words leave Bracken's mouth, Angel was on him, tugging on the lapels of his suit as the Senator's back slammed against the wall. Two of the frames fell to the floor, glass shattering on impact. Angel snarled, and by the time Bracken's eyes focused, he saw that the private eye's face had changed.

Bracken recoiled at the sight of yellow, animalistic eyes, pronounced ridges, and fangs protruding from Angel's top gum. The Senator's eyes widened, and his fingers clawed at the wall, as if there was any way for him to back up any further.

"What the-?!"

"What does Wolfram &amp; Hart have to do with all this?" Angel demanded.

"They-they're helping me," Bracken swallowed. "My…my run for president…"

"And this file…" Angel slammed Bracken against the wall again, hard enough so the back of the Senator's head hit the surface. "It wouldn't have anything to do with a Johanna Beckett, would it?"

Bracken opened his mouth, but no words came out. Angel slammed him back into the wall again.

"_Would it?_"

The Senator nodded, sighing in relief when Angel released his grip. But before Bracken could regain his bearings, Angel's fist clocked him in the left temple, hard enough to break the skin, and the Senator dropped to the floor as blood began to trickle down the side of his face. With a grunt, covering the wound, Bracken glared up at the monster hovering over him.

"You…"

"Back off," Angel snarled. "I catch you going anywhere near Beckett…"

Bracken scrambled back to his feet, still covering the side of his head – even as the blood started seeping between his fingers. "You…you know Detective Beckett…"

"Yeah." Angel got in Bracken's face, close enough to make sure the Senator could catch the stench of death from him. "And if you come after her, you'll be dealing with me. Trust me when I say you don't want that."

Angel watched as Bracken stumbled back to his feet, his face shifting back to its human visage. Though it was entertaining to see a man so powerful, so self-important, stumbling around like this, Angel made sure to keep the smirk in check.

He did, however, manage a sideways grin.

"That's gonna leave a nasty scar," he said, opening the door and pushing Bracken through to the other side. "You might wanna get it checked out."

Slamming the door shut, Angel crossed back over to his desk before grabbing the receiver of his phone and pressing it to his ear. After punching a series of numbers, Angel scowled and pinched the bridge of his nose, turning around to glance at the framed picture of Cordelia Chase as the line connected.

"Captain Montgomery," he said. "You'll never believe who just paid me a visit…"

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

"I don't get it," Detective Kate Beckett said as she returned to one of the circular tables in the break room with a fresh mug of coffee – well, as fresh as the sludge they drank in the precinct could be. "How are there not enough Watchers?"

Faith Lehane shrugged, her fingers playing with the flip tab on the top of her can of soda. "The original Council was destroyed years back. Killed almost everyone. Giles tried to rebuild, but then we awakened all the Slayers and…"

Kate nodded and sipped on her coffee with a cringe. "So it's a numbers game."

Before she could respond, Faith caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Glancing through the open blinds, the dark-haired Slayer noticed a man walking through the bullpen, wearing a black blazer over a royal blue button-down, smiling at other cops as they walked by before heading into the captain's office.

Faith shook her head with a frown. "Who is that? He looks kinda familiar."

Taking another sip, Kate turned in the same direction – doing a literal spit-take once she saw Richard Castle smiling and laughing with Captain Montgomery. Her jaw set as she put her mug on the table, shaking her head. "What is _he_ doing here?"

"I dunno," Faith shrugged with a sideways grin. "Maybe he likes you."

Storming out of the break room, Kate crossed over to the captain's office before pulling the door open and leveling a glare at the writer's direction. For his part, Castle just offered her a shit-eating grin, his tan overcoat draped over his right arm.

"Why hello, Detective," he said in an entirely too cheery tone.

Still staring at Castle, and ignoring the fact that Faith was leaning against Esposito's desk, clearly entertained by the display in front of her, Kate's hands balled into fists. "Sir…what is _he_ doing here?"

"Mr. Castle was just offering me a proposition," Montgomery explained. "It appears he's found his next book character, and he wants to serve as a consultant with the Twelfth Precinct in order to conduct research."

Kate couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Research."

"With Captain Montgomery's permission," Castle said, ignoring the glare directed his way, "I would like to shadow Detective Beckett in an effort to better understand the intricacies of homicide investigations and ensure my latest work will be as genuine as possible."

As aghast as Kate was at the request itself, the fact that Montgomery wasn't outright refusing it and tossing the writer out of his office was even more galling. She shot a meaningful look his way, but Montgomery just arched his brows with an amused smirk.

"Sir," she cleared her throat. "Can I talk to you for a second? In private?"

"No," he shook his head. "This has already been cleared with the mayor, and the commissioner thinks it would look good for us. There are still some formalities to sort through, but Mr. Castle, I say welcome aboard."

The two men shook hands before Castle pushed his way out of the office, grinning from ear to ear. He locked eyes with Faith as he stepped out, cocking his head to the side when she gave him a flirtatious wave.

Kate glared at Montgomery as she turned to leave the office, stalking after Castle before he could press the button for the elevator. She grabbed his arm and spun him around before jabbing a finger into his chest.

"Are you _trying_ to make me regret saving your life?"

"What's the big deal?" Castle shrugged, the grin never once wavering. "You'll hardly even know I'm here." The elevator doors pinged, and Castle stepped into the box, giving Kate a wink before the doors closed. "Trust me, Detective, you're going to love this. See you Monday."

Kate rolled her eyes as the elevator doors closed. "Yeah, I doubt that…"

"Who was that?" Faith asked with an arched brow.

"Richard Castle," the detective huffed with a sigh. "Best-selling author and actual nine-year-old on a sugar rush."

Faith smirked, planting herself in the old chair that sat beside Kate's desk. "And now…unofficial consultant to the NYPD."

"Don't get me started…"

"Oh, come on, Beckett," Faith playfully chided. "He can't be that bad."

Kate sighed, tossing her paperwork aside as she heard the phone ringing in Captain Montgomery's office. She saw him pick up the device, and she noticed how his demeanor appeared to sour as soon as he spoke. She frowned at that, before the sound of Faith clearing her throat brought her back.

"No," she relented. "No, you're right. It's just…" Kate glanced over her shoulder before leaning in, keeping her voice low. "He knows."

Faith frowned. "Knows what?"

"What I am." Kate shrugged and shook her head. "Yeah, he _says_ he's shadowing Detective Beckett…but what if he's really after Kate Beckett, Vampire Slayer?"

Faith smirked again. "You ask me? Beats an old British guy in tweed."


	9. Chapter 9: Down to Business

_**Author's Note: Thank you so much for the kind words and the support so far; I'm having such a blast combining my two favorite TV universes, and the real fun is just beginning! Please continue reading and reviewing!**_

* * *

_Midtown…_

As soon as Detective Kate Beckett killed the engine of her police-issued Crown Vic, Richard Castle reached for the handle on the passenger's side door – only stopping once he felt Kate's hand tugging on his left shoulder.

With a half-quizzical, half-amused smirk, Castle regarded his reluctant partner. "Yes, Detective?"

"If you're really going to be shadowing me," Kate said, barely trying to hide the disdain in her voice, "two rules. One: you do as I say, when I say – including now, when I tell you to stay in the car."

Castle's face fell into one of disappointment, and he opened his mouth to speak before Kate tugged on his shoulder again. "And two: You are shadowing Detective Beckett, not Kate the Slayer…got it?"

His eyes flickered to the back seat before Castle regarded the detective eyeing him suspiciously and nodding. He watched Kate's brows arch in suspicion, and for a moment, he wondered if this was how suspects felt whenever she had them in the box.

When Castle still didn't speak, Kate cleared her throat. "Well…?"

"Yeah." Castle deflated into his seat, letting go of his grip on the seat belt. "Yeah, I got it."

"Good." Kate glanced into the rearview mirror as she opened the driver's side door. "Make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

When the driver's side door shut, Castle glanced over his shoulder into the back seat where Faith Lehane sat. They shared a shrug and a glance of amusement, waiting until the trunk slammed shut. Castle watched Kate join the rest of her crew, fastening the bulletproof vest over her chest before unbuckling his seat belt and turning to face the dark-haired woman.

"Is she always like that?"

Faith shrugged. "Don't ask me. I just met her."

"So what's your story?" Castle cocked his head to the side with an arched brow.

"Oh, we _so_ do not have time for that," Faith answered, raking her fingers through her brown locks. "Unless you're gonna write a book about me, too."

Castle made an exaggerated gesture of resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow resting on the center console in the Crown Vic as his eyebrows arched and his blue eyes widened. "Tell me a good enough story and I just might."

Faith smirked and shook her head. This guy was nothing more than a giant kid, but _damn_, he was fun. Her dark eyes regarded his, before she sat up a little straighter and rested her elbows on her knees.

"Did you know you're talking to a convicted murderer?"

The writer's gasp was audible, and Faith couldn't help but smirk. "Really?" Castle cocked his head to the side before glancing over his shoulder. "That explains the stink eye she gives you. But what about me?"

Faith shrugged again, glancing out the passenger's side window in time to see the ESU unit busting down the door, Kate bursting through with Detectives Ryan and Esposito in tow, the three of them with their weapons drawn. Their shouts of _NYPD!_ and _Freeze!_ were muffled through the glass, but the barrage of gunfire was unmistakable.

"You ask me," Faith said, nonplussed at all the racket. "Detective B could use a little fun in her life. Someone's wound a little too tightly around their stake."

His eyes glued to the open door, desperate to know what was going on in there – especially once the gunfire died down – Castle shook his head. "Sound like you know the type."

"I've had experience."

A loud roar, guttural and unlike anything Castle had ever heard before, interrupted the conversation, and before he could react, Ryan and Esposito burst through the threshold, glancing over their shoulders as they ran back to their squad car – a candy apple red Dodge Charger – diving behind it and huddling together.

The roar returned, at which point Faith pushed her way out of the car, grabbing a seven-inch long dagger that had been hidden under the waistband of her pants. By the time Faith disappeared through the door, Castle pushed himself out the car as well to follow. After all, if the woman charged with keeping him in the car left said car, then why did he have to stay?

His answer came when he got to the doorway, watching Kate cradling her service piece in both hands as Faith brandished the dagger. Hovering over the two women was easily the most foul creature Castle had ever seen – certainly more disgusting than the vampire that had attacked him the other night.

This monstrosity was at least ten feet tall, its skin a mix of olive green and shit brown, a viscous substance covering its skin. Tusks sprang from the creature's nostrils, and its menacing growl sounded like a cross between a wounded hyena and a pig squealing in a pool of mud.

Castle wished he had a camera; his poker buddies were never going to believe this.

"Holy shit!"

His expression caught the attention of not just Kate and Faith, but the creature as well. Two pairs of human eyes trained on the writer, as did the four orbs on the monster's forehead that he guessed were its eyes. The roar returned, louder than before, and the creature pushed its way past the Slayers toward Castle.

"Dammit, Castle!" Kate sprang back to her feet, making an impossible leap onto the creature's shoulders – a move made all the more impressive given the heels she was wearing. Faith was in her tracks, deciding to take the creature low, plunging her dagger into its right leg. The howl of pain was stomach-churning, as was the mustard-yellow ooze pouring from the wound.

Castle covered his mouth as he backed away, fearful he would lose his lunch. He watched Faith pull the dagger out and stab the monster again, even as Kate discharged her weapon into the back of what Castle guessed was its neck. The monster lurched forward with a grunt, falling face-first onto the cold floor leading out the door.

Castle felt the ground shake when the monster landed, losing his footing and falling on his ass. He looked up again just in time to see Faith jab her dagger into the back of the demon's head, more of that yellow gunk erupting until the monster lay motionless and silent.

The two women exchanged a glance, catching their breath before Kate holstered her weapon and approached Castle.

"What did I tell you about staying in the car?!"

"I was following her!" Castle protested, pointing at Faith – who just shook her head when Kate shot her an accusatory glare. "And I just say…that was _so cool!_ I mean, I might throw up later, because that's disgusting, but…_so cool!_"

"Glad you're entertained," Kate deadpanned with an eye roll. "See how entertaining it is when one of those things kills you."

"Yeah, right," Castle scoffed as he stumbled back to his feet, tailing the two women who were now heading back to the Crown Vic. "I'm following two kickass women who fight demons for a living, how dangerous can it be?"

Kate stopped on a dime, twirling back around to jab her finger into Castle's chest. He tried not to cringe at the pain, but he had to admit it really hurt. "Remember when I told you that you were shadowing Detective Beckett and not Kate the Slayer?" She didn't even give Castle a chance to reply. "_That's_ why. This is _dangerous_, Castle."

Castle shrugged. "But I signed a waiver."

"With the NYPD," Kate countered. "This is different."

By the time the trio had gotten back in the car, and Kate cranked the engine before snagging a few napkins from the glove box to wipe the demon blood spatter that had gotten onto her face, she glanced in the rearview at Faith.

"Look, Castle," she said. "I'm only letting you tag along because my boss, my boss' boss, and _his_ boss said so. But if you keep poking around in my slaying, then this little arrangement is over."

Seemingly nonplussed, Castle shrugged. "Then I'll just start shadowing Faith."

Ignoring the jab, Kate glanced into the rearview mirror again. "I'd like to know what that thing was," she said. "And if I gotta worry about there being more of them."

"Already on it," the other Slayer said. "Took a pic of it after we killed it, shot it off to G-man over in England. Should hear back in a few hours."

"Good." A teasing grin played across Kate's face. "Glad someone in this car's helpful."

* * *

_Lilah Morgan's office…_

"I have to say," Lilah Morgan took a seat in her plush leather chair, the Manhattan skyline behind her thanks to the view of her 45th-story office in the New York branch of Wolfram &amp; Hart, "I wasn't expecting to meet again so soon. Is everything alright?"

William Bracken stood on the other side of the office, browsing a wooden bookshelf that spanned the entire height of the wall. In particular, he paid attention to a series of unmarked books, each sporting a maroon leather spine. The Senator cocked his head to the side with a shake of his head.

"In a manner of speaking," Bracken said. "Facing resistance in securing that file, though."

Lilah sat up a little straighter with a furrowed brow. "Any way we can assist?"

"Actually, that's not why I'm here," the Senator mused, closing the distance between himself and Lilah's ornate desk before lowering himself into one of the overly comfortable black leather chairs. He sank into the cushions with a sigh. "I'm hoping you could provide me with some information."

Lilah frowned and set her pen down. What could Bracken be after? Trying to hide the confusion twitching over her brows, Lilah nodded and waved her hand, motioning for Bracken to continue.

"Richard Wilkins," Bracken said.

Lilah's frown deepened. "The former mayor of Sunnydale, California?"

"Among other things," Bracken countered with a knowing smile.

One of Bracken's more unsavory contacts in the world had told the Senator about the former mayor of the small California town decades ago. How Wilkins had founded Sunnydale, right atop a Hellmouth, and over the decades he cultivated evil until the tiny speck of Southern California land was a haven for beasts and demons.

Until the Slayer came along.

Still, Wilkins' ultimate endgame – Ascension – continued unabated. He took every step necessary in order to accomplish his goal. He even succeeded, Ascending while delivering the commencement speak at the local high school.

Success was brief, though; the Slayer had enlisted the help of the graduating class – along with several other outsiders – and Mayor Wilkins was vanquished when an explosion destroyed the high school.

Bracken, who still had his eyes on the White House, wanted to know why Wilkins had failed. He refused to believe it was because of some superpowered cheerleader and a bunch of riled-up teenagers.

"I can have that information for you tomorrow," Lilah said, choosing not to press her latent curiosity. Knowing Senator Bracken the way she did, she knew he would reveal his gameplan in due time.

If there was one thing her time with Wolfram &amp; Hart had taught Lilah, it was patience.

"Excellent." Bracken stood to exit the office, stopping at the doorway before turning to regard Lilah again. "Oh, and one more thing…tell Lindsey that P.I. he referred me to? Every bit the pain in the ass he said."

A knowing smile crept onto Lilah's face. "You have no idea, Senator."


	10. Chapter 10: The Winding Road

_**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's been reading and offering their support - and thank you for your patience between updates. Life's pretty damn hectic at the moment!**_

* * *

_Baltimore, 1944…_

Wilheim Brachen's trek from war-torn Germany to the United States had been neither swift nor smooth. In fact, as he hobbled off the boat that had just docked at one of the many harbors along the East Coast – in a state locals called Maryland – he did so with a bad limp thanks to an attack he'd suffered at the claws of a Groxlar beast in southern France.

How the wound hadn't become infected was beyond Wilheim. He kept his head down, hoping no one could see his dark brown eyes. Hoping no one would notice the slash running along the right side of his neck – the result of an ambush from a vampire clan in Morocco.

But those trials were behind Brachen now; he was in America. The first step of his life's journey was complete. Brachen was a middle-aged man, no older than his early fifties, and he was what some would consider classically handsome, with his square jaw and his pronounced cheekbones. Wilheim carried an air of self-importance about him that he had inherited from his father, who was currently one of the highest-ranking officers in Hitler's regime.

Brachen fled his family and his homeland, not out of self-preservation or ideological disagreement, but because his ambitions were too large for his home country. In fact, the whole of Europe couldn't contain Brachen's dreams.

So, thanks to the counsel of the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart – after a particularly jarring trek from this realm into another known as Pylea – Wilheim made his way west, until he set foot in what some called the land of the free and the home of the brave. But in Brachen's brief experience with Americans, he knew neither was the case.

This was a nation, much like those across the Atlantic, that withheld rights based on a person's skin color, that sent the young and the poor overseas to fight in a war that made the older and more powerful a boatload on money. In that regard, America and Nazi Germany were a lot alike in Brachen's eyes.

He hoped to someday use those similarities to his advantage.

A folded-up piece of paper cradled in the pocket of Brachen's ragged, dirt-stained coat held an address for an office building in Washington, D.C. He overheard an argument next to the pier, in which he heard that he wound up in a town called Baltimore – and if Wilheim remembered his studies correctly, he wasn't that far away from the American capital.

Only problem was, he was short on money. While he came from a well-off family, Brachen's self-exile ensured he would never see any of that money himself. He sacrificed decades of potential wealth for a higher purpose, which he figured was not unlike what those who took lifelong oaths of celibacy in joining the clergy.

But Brachen knew his mission would likely bring along its own financial windfall, so it was easier for him to sacrifice his family's fortune. And having the tastes that he did, Brachen knew he would never be able to give up his taste for the flesh.

In fact, if he was to ever Ascend, that very taste would be needed.

He approached a young boy, probably no older than ten, standing on the street corner trying to sell copies of the _Baltimore Sun_. The boy narrowed his eyes at Brachen and took a step back; in this get-up, Wilheim was sure he resembled a homeless man. Yet Brachen continued his approach, each step slow in an effort to show he was no threat.

"Pardon," he spoke in a heavy German accent, "I'm trying to get to Vashington."

"Well, I don't got no money, mister," the boy announced as a businessman walked past, picked up a copy of the newspaper, and dropped a pair of coins into the upturned hat sitting on the pavement. "Train station's three blocks over."

Thankful for the information, and getting the distinct impression that his presence made the boy uncomfortable, Brachen dipped his worn hat in thanks and hobbled across the busy street in the direction of the train station. He could feel the sun setting as he wandered, passersby giving him strange looks because of his awkward gait.

Brachen hadn't yet figured out a plan of how to get onto a train heading to D.C. without any money at his disposal – in hindsight, grabbing some of his family's wealth before departing was probably a good idea, even if he had been discovered – but he would figure that out in due time.

Even if that meant staying overnight at the train station.

Given American sentiment toward the Germans, Brachen knew a name change was in order, and he needed to learn how to hide his accent and get a better grasp of the English language. His name was the easy part; Wilheim would simply become William, while Brachen – pronounced Brah-kin – would become Bracken, with more of a soft A and not so much emphasis on the K sound.

Wilheim Brachen was just the latest in a long line of immigrants pouring into the United States; if he had his way, William Bracken would become the most powerful man in the country, if not the entire world.

* * *

_Two years ago…_

Most of Kate Beckett's nightly patrols led her to Angel Investigations, because aside from her partners at the Twelfth, Angel was the closest thing she had in this entire city to a friend. It was strange, seeing as how she was a Slayer and he was a vampire, but she had to admit they made a damn good demon-fighting duo.

He was pretty easy on the eyes, too – even if he made ribbing him for being all broody and borderline emo a little too easy. He cursed _Twilight_'s entire existence, if for no other reason than the fact that it gave Kate ample opportunity to playfully compare him to Edward Cullen.

Thankfully for both of them, Angel didn't sparkle.

As Kate had expected, he was at his desk when she opened the door and crossed the threshold, buried in one of the many books that littered his office. Three bookshelves were stuffed to the proverbial gills, and there were stacks of even more books on the floor and on the corner of his desk.

Kate smirked when she saw the book he was reading: _Unholy Storm_ by Richard Castle.

"Don't tell me you're a fan," she smirked.

Looking up and using his thumb as a placeholder, Angel's expression softened when he saw Kate standing in front of the door. He couldn't see any wounds or cuts on her, so that told him the night's patrol had been easy – easy being a relative term in her life.

"Most of the time," he lifted the book. "Not sure zombies are his wheelhouse, though."

Setting the book atop the pile on the corner of his desk, Angel rose from his chair and crossed to the front of the desk. Kate approached him and they briefly kissed before Kate tucked a short lock of hair behind her right ear and cocked her head to the side.

Angel's hand moved from the side of her neck to her shoulder. "Something on your mind, Kate?"

Truth be told, there was so much going on in Kate's mind that she couldn't keep it all straight. The case she was working on with Ryan and Esposito was a particularly strange one – a psychic who seemed to predict her own murder. Normally, Kate would've laughed that off, but now that she had superpowers and was fighting demons in her spare time, she wasn't so sure.

Then there was her mother's case, which hadn't seen a new lead in almost a decade. The detective responsible for the case had long since retired, and every time she reached out to Detective Raglan, he blew her off.

And then…there was Angel. Her guide and mentor in a lot of ways, having taught her about Slayer lore and what it meant to actually be one. He was helpful in identifying demons and figuring out ways to kill them, and he was pretty good in a fight in his own right – though she figured that was because he wasn't entirely on the up-and-up himself.

The whole vampire-with-a-soul thing still seemed hokey to her, but Buffy Summers – who was affectionately known in some circles as "Queen Slayer" – had vouched for Angel, and again, at least he didn't sparkle.

She'd been hurt when he refused to help her with Johanna's case, but with time, she understood his reasoning – and that understanding came much easier when she realized the vampire had feelings for her. He apparently cared for her to the point where the thought of failing to find her mother's killer caused him anguish.

Well, more anguish that he already suffered on a nightly basis. Angel claimed that wasn't the case, but she could tell by the lines in his forehead and the way his brow furrowed that he was putting up a front.

She understood, though, because she put up the same front. It was one of the reasons they worked as well as they did, though she wouldn't call what they had serious. Even in opening herself up, Kate was being cautious. One foot out the door, her father had once called it: a hallmark of every relationship Kate had since Johanna's death.

Part of her felt guilty for that, but Angel didn't appear bothered by it, so for the time being, the arrangement worked well for them. But if things were to progress in any way, shape, or form, there was something she needed to know.

"Who's the girl?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the framed photograph hanging on the wall behind Angel's desk.

Glancing over his shoulder, even though he knew what Kate was referring to, the hint of a smile on Angel's pale face disappeared. He lowered himself onto the edge of his desk, his hands clasping together. His already pronounced brow deepened even more, and even under the dim lighting of his office, Kate could see his eyes darken.

"Her name's Cordelia," he explained. "She was…when I started Angel Investigations in L.A., she joined. She was new in town, lost, we'd known each other when we were in Sunnydale…we helped each other."

Kate took a seat in the chair opposite Angel's desk. The tone of his voice told her what she really needed to know, and as such, her automatic response of gallow's humor – cultivated through years on the force – was shelved for the moment.

"She wound up having visions," Angel continued, "warnings from the Powers That Be of people in trouble. That was how we got a lot of our cases. Over time, we…" A sideways grin threatened to break out. "I guess we fell in love."

Kate frowned. "You guess?"

"Never got to find out," Angel shrugged. That almost-smile disappeared. "It's…probably the most convoluted, complicated thing ever, but she became a higher being, and then she wasn't, but it wasn't really her, and she gave birth to a disgraced Power That Was, and then she…"

Kate averted her gaze when Angel hung his head. "Died?"

Angel nodded. "Before she died…the Powers gave her one last mission: get me back on track." The vampire shrugged. "I'd left Angel Investigations, lost my way. She put me back on it, reminded me who I was. That picture?" He pointed over his shoulder. "It's my way of making sure I don't forget again."

Kate stood and approached Angel, her fingers lightly trailing over his cheek. His cool skin still took some getting used to, and if the detective was being honest with herself, that sensation was a big reason why they hadn't yet slept together. The temperature difference between her body and his still weirded her out a little.

To his credit, Angel hadn't pushed. Though she figured she knew why.

"I'm sorry, Angel," she whispered. "First Buffy, now Cordelia…"

"Told you my love life was a train wreck," Angel quipped, that ghost of a smile returning. He was trying to be funny, awkward as it felt, and his smile grew in gratitude when Kate shook her head with a chuckle.

Suddenly, Kate didn't feel quite so bad for unburdening her baggage onto Angel occasionally – given everything he had endured in almost three centuries' of existence, she figured her life seemed like a walk in the park by comparison. It was clear to Kate just how important Buffy and Cordelia still were to Angel, and yet she didn't feel threatened by either.

"Remember the offer you made me?" Angel asked, grabbing Kate's hand and giving it a squeeze. "That night at the cemetery?"

Kate nodded with a shiver, though whether it was because of the memory or his cold touch, she couldn't say. "Yeah."

"I've changed my mind," he said, noting the shock in her eyes. "If the offer's still open."

"I…" Kate was speechless. She kept her grip on Angel's hand, because as weird as it still felt for his cold skin to be pressed against hers, the contact was her tether. She sometimes wondered if he avoided touching her in certain places because he would feel her pulse. Sometimes, Angel had a look in his eyes that looked like something more primal than lust, and every time Kate paid it any mind, a shudder ran down her spine.

"Angel, you don't have to…"

"I want to," he said, pushing off his desk and straightening his posture. "I wanna help, Kate. I won't promise anything, but…if there's something I can do, I want to."

A soft, tentative smile crept onto Kate's face, and her fingers wrapped around the lapel of Angel's coat – why he insisted on wearing the coat indoors was beyond her – before she leaned in for a kiss. For the first time, the cold didn't bother her. Eyes fluttered shut, lips pressed harder and more insistently against each other, and Angel's hands grabbed her hips.

Breaking the kiss, Kate bit her lower lip and looked up at Angel. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm officially inviting you to my apartment," she said, turning to exit the office and casting a glance over her shoulder. "There's something you have to see."

* * *

_Present day…_

For the sake of convenience, Angel lived in a subterranean area underneath the building that housed Angel Investigations. In many ways, it resembled the set-up he had his first year in Los Angeles, before the building exploded and the base of operations moved to an abandoned hotel.

In a lot of ways, the nostalgia was comforting. All of his memories of Los Angeles before Connor were good memories. The camaraderie he had not just with Cordelia, but also with Wesley and, later, Gunn and Fred was something akin to a family. He never lost sight of the irony of how that all fell apart once actual blood family got involved.

Tossing his coat onto the couch, Angel crossed to his study, flicking the lamp next to the doorway on before crossing to a flatscreen monitor in the far corner. Grabbing a remote, he powered the device on, glaring at the screen as it illuminated, a candid shot of Detective Kate Beckett front and center.

Surrounding that shot was every bit of information Angel had on the murder of Johanna Beckett. Everything Kate had given him. Everything included in the case file filed with the NYPD. Everything his own personal investigation had uncovered – which wasn't much.

His lack of success in unraveling this mystery – while a constant source of guilt for Angel – was not what had undone them as a couple. Truth was, they were too similar in all the wrong ways. The moodiness, the fact that they both erected and hid behind their respective walls. One of them being taciturn was borderline adorable; the fact that they both were was untenable.

Fortunately, Kate harbored no ill will, neither for the break-up nor for the fact that he wasn't getting anywhere in her mother's case. But she had asked him to stop looking into it after they broke up; she had asked him to get rid of what he had.

Obviously, Angel hadn't done that.

Angel wondered how Kate would react if she found out he was still digging. He was doing the exact opposite of what she'd asked him to do, and he knew it, but for some reason Angel could not stop. Now that he was in this, he couldn't back out without any answers. He had poured over every tidbit until it all ran together in his head when he slept, and it got to the point where Angel was certain he was missing something.

Having obtained his own copy of the official police report – Kate Beckett wasn't his only contact at the NYPD – Angel had reached out to John Raglan, the retired detective who had led the initial investigation. But he had been no more forthcoming with him than he had been with Kate, which didn't surprise Angel.

But an examination of the autopsy photos tugged on Angel's intuition, so he had reached out to a retired medical examiner named Clark Murray. He hadn't heard back yet, but Angel hoped this would lead somewhere.

He'd admit to Kate what he was doing, but he didn't want to do so until he had something to show her. It was his – admittedly flimsy – hope that her anger would be tempered by the excitement of his discovery.

Alas, there was no such discovery yet.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

Angel whirled around, startled by the voice he hadn't expected to hear, deflating with a sigh when he saw Faith standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. She shook her head when her dark eyes took in the flatscreen before stepping fully into the vampire's office, her heavy black boots clomping against the hardwood floor.

"Faith."

She approached the monitor, studying all of the information therein. She shook her head, refusing to tear her gaze. "Didn't she ask you to stop?"

"I can't let this go," he admitted with a shrug. "Not without knowing."

"So your selfish curiosity is more important than the wishes of someone you have feelings for?" Faith quirked a brow and shook her head again. "She trusts you, Angel. You know how hard that is for someone like her?"

The vampire fell silent, because there really wasn't anything he could say. He knew Faith was right; logically, he understood what he was doing and why it was wrong. But he just couldn't bring himself to stop, and with the recent visit of Senator Bracken and the revelation that Wolfram &amp; Hart had steered Bracken his way…Angel was convinced there was something there.

"Detective Raglan was wrong," he finally said. "This wasn't gang violence."

"And if that's true," Faith sighed, "all the more reason to back off." The Slayer grabbed the remote off the desk and turned off the monitor before turning to regard Angel again. "You're playing with fire here, Angel. You really wanna piss her off?"

"I want to find out who killed Johanna."

"For what?" Faith shrugged. "You think she'll take you back? Her undead knight in shining armor? In case you haven't noticed, Angel, Beckett's a big girl. There's a reason that writer's basing his next character after her."

Angel frowned. "Richard Castle?"

Faith smiled, though it looked more like a smirk. "Yep. He's found his replacement for Derrick Storm and has made it his life's mission to annoy the hell out of your gal Friday."

Angel shook his head, a scowl forming on his pale face. _I warned him…_

"I'm not…" The vampire sighed. "I know finding the guy who killed her mom won't bring her back to me. That ship has sailed. I just…I need answers."

"For her?" Faith quirked a brow again. "Or for yourself?"


	11. Chapter 11: In the Way

_**Author's Note: Apologies for the length of time between posts - on this and all my other fics. This is the busiest time of year for me at work, and it has been kicking my ass. But these fics have not been abandoned! Thank you for the support and the reviews!**_

* * *

If Kate Beckett was _that_ determined to make sure Richard Castle couldn't follow her more supernatural exploits, then he figured he'd best learn about those types of things on his own. Which meant walking through a cemetery in the middle of the night – alone. Perhaps not Castle's best idea ever, but certainly far from his worst.

Besides, how else was Nikki Heat supposed to be a kickass monster hunter if Castle had no idea what all went into monster hunting? He supposed he could've asked Faith for an assist – she at least seemed more cooperative than Detective Beckett, and truth be told, he was _dying_ to hear more of her story – but he wasn't drawn to Faith the way he was drawn to Kate.

Oh, Faith was fun. In fact, Castle had no doubt that she was fun in several different ways. Were the writer about a decade younger, he would see the Slayer with the dark hair and the arm tattoo and the apparent rap sheet as a challenge worth pursuing.

Still, the thoughts were nice.

Slipping between tombstones, and noting that none of them were fresh, Castle was about to leave the graveyard in disappointment when sounds of a struggle from the other side of the plot caught his attention. Pulling his smartphone from his coat, Castle crossed to the other side of the cemetery, using a particularly large headstone as cover.

Peeking over the top edge of the stone, Castle saw two men in a knockdown drag-out brawl. One man wore a sleeveless black tee, silver chains dangling from the belt loops of his black jeans. The other man wore a billowy black coat and had an air of familiarity to him, even if Castle couldn't get a good look amid the tussle.

The man in the coat wound up on his back with a grunt, and Castle saw the pronounced ridges and yellow eyes on the other man. Recognition triggered, and Castle stood a little more upright. It looked just like the creature that had attacked him at the book party – the night that changed everything.

To Castle's surprise, the creature had a stake in both hands, hoisting it above his head with the clear intent of jabbing the other man in the chest. Confused, and honestly, not sure what else to do, Castle emerged from behind the headstone, his left foot kicking against the base of it.

"Hey!"

The creature's head shot up, confusion in its eyes. That confusion soon morphed into something more sinister, as the vampire dropped the stake with a snarl and broke off into a sprint, heading right toward Castle.

"Aw, _crap_," he muttered with wide eyes. His brain told him to run, yet the most Castle could muster was a few awkward steps backward.

So busy trying to extricate himself from the situation, was Castle, that he hadn't noticed the other man getting back to his feet, grabbing the stake that had been dropped, and slipping an arm around the vampire's neck. By the time to hunk of wood had been jammed into the vampire's chest, a stunned look frozen on the monster's face before he disappeared in a cloud of ash, Castle noticed his savior was none other than the P.I. named Angel.

Only…something was a little different about him.

Angel dropped the stake, panting from exertion. Castle had feeling in his legs again, even if adrenaline and fear were still pumping through his veins. He stared at Angel's face, noting the same ridges and feral eyes that he had seen in the monster that had just been dusted. When Angel lifted his head, Castle saw fangs, and he nearly stumbled over a tombstone as he backed up.

"Geez!"

"Richard Castle?" To say Angel was incredulous would put it mildly. "What the _hell_?"

"What do you mean _what the hell_?" The writer shot back, his voice raising an octave more than he liked. "_What the hell_ should be _my_ line! You're _one of them_?!" He shook his head, nervous laughter bubbling from within. "Does Beckett know about this?"

Angel sighed, his face shifting back to its more human visage. "What are you doing here?"

"Book research," Castle's answer was automatic. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Hunting."

"So…" Castle quirked a brow. "You hunt your own kind?"

Angel shrugged. "The evil ones."

"The evil-?" Castle sighed and shook his head. "Okay, what _aren't_ you telling me?!"

"So much, Castle." Angel shook his head with a smirk and the ghost of a sideways grin. "So very much. But…if you must know…" He leaned in, fighting the urge to smirk when he saw the writer back away from him. "I have a soul."

Castle blinked. "A vampire with a soul." The writer smirked. "God, how lame is _that_?"

"Don't make me regret saving your ass."

Once Angel started walking off into the night, Castle fell in lockstep with him. "Funny, Beckett said the same thing once."

Angel stopped on a proverbial dime, and Castle nearly ran into his back. But in turning to keep from running in the vampire, Castle caught his left foot on the edge of a tombstone and nearly toppled over. Angel's cold hand on his shoulder was the only thing saving the writer from sure embarrassment and potential injury.

"What is it with you and Beckett, anyway?"

"Book research."

There was that stock answer again. An answer with just enough truth in it for Richard Castle to seem entirely on the up-and-up, when the reality was that it went a little deeper than that. He was attracted to Detective Beckett, sure, but more than anything, she intrigued him. Why someone with her looks and smarts would become a cop, and how in the world she was chosen to be this kickass demon fighter.

Angel's eyes narrowed. "Book research."

"Yeah." Castle placed his palm on the top of the headstone he nearly face-planted over before realizing it was a tombstone and removing his hand as if he had just touched a hot stove. "I've created a new character to replace Derrick Storm. I shadow Detective Beckett for research."

"I see." Angel stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat, chewing on his lower lip. "Set aside the fact you should've never killed off Storm in the first place…why her?"

Castle blinked. "Why _not_ her?"

"You wanna shadow the NYPD to lend authenticity to your books? Fine." Angel shrugged. "But why Detective Beckett?"

"She's good at what she does," Castle answered with a shrug.

"You mean with a badge or with a stake?"

"Why do I get the feeling I'm being accused of stepping on your toes here?" Castle took a step toward Angel, momentarily forgetting the fact that Angel was a vampire and – soul or no soul – much stronger. "Come on, Angel. Why does my presence in Beckett's life bother you so much?"

Angel faltered. "It doesn't."

"Please," Castle scoffed. "I don't know how old you _actually_ are, but you're a terrible liar, and you're acting like I did in tenth grade when Cecilia Jenkins went to the fall dance with someone other than me."

"I warned you about her."

"And I still don't know why," Castle pressed. "I saw you at the precinct the other day, skulking about in the background. You were looking at her, and I could see _something_ there. Not really sure what – your forehead kind of gets in the way – but I don't buy for a second that you're warning me off of Detective Beckett out of the goodness of your unbeating heart."

Angel's dark eyes flickered to the tombstone Castle was standing next to, arching a brow. "Mr. Castle, what _exactly_ do you know about Kate?"

"I know you just used her first name," Castle answered. "Which _no one_ does."

"Look at the tombstone, Mr. Castle."

More confused than before, Castle reluctantly took a step back and turned his attention to the gravestone – the same one he almost did a nosedive over just a few minutes ago. He did a double-take once he saw the name etched into the stone, his hands instinctively balling into fists as he regarded the vampire again.

"Johanna Beckett."

Angel nodded. "Yep."

"I read about her in the paper," Castle said, returning his gaze to the stone. "Must've been…what, almost 15 years ago?"

"Johanna's her mother," Angel explained. "Kate was home on break from Stanford when she was murdered."

Castle shook his head. "I had no idea."

"Johanna's murder is what made Kate become a cop," Angel cast a sideways glance toward Castle. "I'm sure you thought the same thing I did when I first met her: how does someone who looks like her, who comes from a family of lawyers, become a cop? Homicide, even?"

Castle couldn't tear his eyes from the tombstone. "It crossed my mind. Has the case been solved?"

Angel shook his head. "Official NYPD stance is that it was a random act of gang violence."

Castle finally tore his gaze from the tomb to regard Angel again. "You don't believe that."

"Neither does she." Angel shrugged. "This was one of the first cases I worked when I moved to New York. She wanted me to see if I could find anything the NYPD had missed."

"Did you?"

Angel fell silent, his gaze darkening as he stared at the tombstone. Castle noted the Latin phrase permanently marking Johanna's final resting place before turning his attention back to the vampire, studying the subtle shifts in his pale face and the way his shoulders seemed to tense. Castle cocked his head to the side.

"You didn't, did you?"

Angel turned away from the writer and started walking again, trying not to roll his eyes when he heard the soft footsteps following from behind on the grass. The vampire stopped again, but didn't turn to look at Castle.

"Six months."

Castle frowned. "Six…months what?"

"Kate and I," Angel sighed. "We were together for six months."

Castle shrugged, hoping his legendary poker face extended to middle-of-the-night chats with goody-good vampires. "I didn't ask."

Angel scoffed. "Yeah, you were not asking very loudly." The vampire finally turned to regard Castle again. "Look, Kate and me…we're too much alike. We were wrong for each other. When it was good, it was…" A ghost of a smile trickled onto Angel's pale face. "But when it went bad, oh…it was _bad_."

"Congratulations," Castle joked. "You just described my first marriage."

"She's headstrong, driven," Angel explained. "As driven as anyone I've seen in a long time. But…there's no balance to her life. It's the job, it's the slaying, it's her mom's case. And I'm not any better."

Castle arched a brow. "Meaning?"

"My soul is a curse," the vampire said. "Long time ago, I ate a Romani girl one night, and her family cast a spell on me. Restored my soul so I could live with the guilt of all the terrible things I did."

"Damned to live out your endless days wracked with despair," Castle mused with a single nod. "Rather ingenious, as far as punishments go."

"That's not the worst part." Angel shook his head. "I experience pure happiness, I lose my soul. I revert back to Angelus."

"Angelus." Boy, Castle wished he'd brought along a notepad and a pen. "And…on the scale of Count Chocula to Vlad the Impaler, how bad was this…Angelus?"

Angel shook his head. "Some things, Mr. Castle, you're better off not knowing."

That non-answer was actually all the answer Castle needed. "So…pure happiness." The writer cast a sideways glance. "What would pure happiness entail, exactly?"

"It wasn't with Kate, if that's what you're asking."

"It wasn't."

Okay, so it totally was.

"Look," Angel said with a sigh, "you're clearly going to be a part of Kate's life for the foreseeable future, so…look out for her, will you?"

Castle frowned. "Are you…asking for my help?"

"More or less." Angel glanced over his shoulder. "So long as you're in the way over there, maybe you can be useful. Captain Montgomery's been acting strange lately."

Castle arched a brow. "Strange."

"I think he's hiding something from Beckett. I just don't know what." Okay, so that was a lie. Between Montgomery's offer and Senator Bracken's visit the other day, Angel thought he had a damn good idea what was going on. "But I have reason to believe it's related to her mother's case."

"You want me to spy on Captain Montgomery," Castle shook his head. "Beckett's boss and one of my best poker buddies."

"He knows who killed Johanna," Angel argued.

"Which would be _her_ business," Castle countered. "Unless you're still on the case."

Angel turned to walk into the night again, and this time the writer didn't follow. Angel glanced at the grass as he walked, his hands trapped in the pockets of his coat. He could practically feel the confusion coming off of Castle in waves, silently wondering if maybe he'd said more than he should.

"Just keep your eyes open, Richard."


	12. Chapter 12: Getting Along

_**Author's Note: Thank you all for your patience and understanding; work has been beyond hectic for the past month, but now that all of that is behind, I can get back to updating this - and my other fics - much more frequently. Thank you all for your support, and please, reviews are great!**_

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

Richard Castle had barely slept the night before, a combination of working on his manuscript for _Heat Wave_ and the fact that he didn't know what to make of his conversation two nights ago with Angel. The writer felt as though he was privy to information he didn't need to know; something told Castle that if Detective Beckett wanted him to know about her tragic past, she would say so.

And considering the fact that he was trying to be on his best behavior at the precinct – which, admittedly, was difficult for him – harboring this secret was tough. Adding the fact that the P.I. suspected Captain Montgomery of shady dealings didn't help matters.

What was Castle supposed to do with this information? Tell Beckett? Let her know that he knew stuff he honestly had no business knowing? Accuse the man she looked up to professionally of possible corruption based on the word of an ex-lover who also happened to be a vampire?

No…for once in Castle's life, discretion was the better part of valor. Still, as Castle strode into the bullpen, two cup of coffee in-hand, he couldn't help but glance into the glass box that was Montgomery's office, watching him as he jotted something onto a pad of paper with the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder.

Once he got to Beckett's desk, Castle handed her one of the cups before lowering himself into the chair beside her desk. She smiled her thanks; it was a small smile, once Castle would've missed if he'd blinked, but it was something. He returned the smile, but it disappeared the second his eyes caught the murder board.

"Uh, Beckett?"

"Allison Tisdale," she began after taking a sip of her coffee, leaning back in her chair. "She was a social worker."

"Right," he pursed his lips and nodded once. "But I'm guessing the fact that she was a social worker isn't why you called five times this morning."

"No." Kate sighed. "No, it's not."

Castle stood and approached the white dry-erase board, studying the crime scene photos that sent a chill down his spine unlike anything he'd seen in the brief time he'd been shadowing Detective Beckett. Not even the creature he saw Kate and Faith fighting the week before made his skin crawl the way these photos did.

"Straight out of _Flowers For Your Grave_," he muttered and shook his head.

"And she's not the only one," Kate joined him by the murder board, slapping another crime scene photo to the surface – a man splayed out on the floor, dead, surrounded by a crudely drawn pentagram. "Marvin Fisk, attorney. I didn't think much of the placement of the body when we caught the case, but after Tisdale…"

Castle nodded, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. "_Hell Hath No Fury_."

Kate studied Castle as he studied the crime scenes photos, a deep crease forming on his forehead, his brows scrunching together in a mixture of confusion and disgust. He set the cup of coffee in his hand aside, having lost his taste for it, before grabbing a photo of Tisdale's face, covered in the giant sunflowers, and shaking his head.

"What, no quip?"

Castle shot a glare Kate's way. "Please. I may be a jackass, but I'm not heartless."

Averting her gaze, Kate cleared her throat and grabbed a manila folder that had been lying on her desk. "Sorry," she muttered before opening the file. "Ryan and Esposito have been running down both Fisk and Tisdale, seeing if they had any connection. So far, nothing's popped, but I'm not so sure the victims are the story here."

"The victims are always the story," Castle countered. "But they're not always the _only_ story. It's clear we're dealing with a fan here."

"Yeah, a clearly deranged fan."

"I wouldn't call you deranged, Detective."

Kate blinked, putting the folder back on her desk. "What?"

"Come on, Detective," Castle couldn't help the smirk forming. "The fact that you read the Derrick Storm books is one thing. But…_Flowers For Your Grave_? _Hell Hath No Fury_? Only hardcore Castle groupies know about those."

Narrowing her eyes and biting her lip – because _there_ was the insufferable man-child she'd been saddled with – Kate folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. "Castle, whoever did this is a deranged fan. And history tells us that in cases like this, the killer reaches out to the object of their obsession. Have you received any creepy fan mail recently?"

Castle shrugged. "I get creepy fan mail all the time. Occupational hazard."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Do you have access to any of it?"

"Let me make a phone call," Castle said. "All the really weird ones go to my publisher to be vetted. Nine times out of ten, it's nothing."

Kate returned to her desk, lowering herself into her seat. "Well, consider this the tenth."

Returning to his own seat, Castle grabbed for his cup of coffee again, taking a sip. "So," he began, "you and your P.I. friend. How does that work, exactly? Does he read my books to you while you style and gel his hair? Ooh, bonus points if he reads to you while you're waiting to stake a freshly-risen vampire."

Kate arched a disbelieving brow, dropping her pen. "You know Angel."

"Mm." Another sip of coffee. "Not like you."

The arched brow only arched more, and Kate couldn't help the sideways grin on her face. "Is this you being jealous?" The detective huffed a laugh before Castle could respond. "Really, Castle? The playboy writer is jealous of one of my exes?"

"Not jealous," Castle protested – perhaps a little too vehemently for his liking. "Angel's…interesting. A lot like you. Square jaw, taciturn, not big on fun. I can see why it didn't work, though."

"Really."

"Yeah, he's like the male you."

"And that's a bad thing."

"There was no balance," Castle argued with a shrug. "You were too much alike. Yin needs yang, not another yin. Yin yang is harmony. Yin yin is a panda."

Though annoyed, Kate was also somewhat amused. It was a strange dichotomy she'd experienced almost every day since Castle started shadowing her – this simultaneous desire to strangle him while trying not to laugh – because laughing would only feed his ego and encourage him further.

Then again, annoyance didn't deter him so Kate was pretty much damned if she did and damned if she didn't.

"Funny," she quipped, "coming from the guy who's been married twice."

The zinger didn't have its desired effect, and Castle offered her a smug grin and a shrug. "Been perusing the personal section of the Richard Castle website, have we?"

"Just get me those letters," she said with more bite than Castle expected. "And so help me, if this new book of yours inspires a copycat murderer, then I will give you a first-hand demonstration of my service piece."

* * *

_Castle's loft…_

Going through the fanmail had been exhausting – both because of the hours it took to scan through every letter and the fact that some of the letters were downright disturbing. Based on that alone, Castle wondered how many sickos were reading his books and going about trying to kill people.

It wasn't enough to make him stop writing, but it did make him grab for the scotch pretty much as soon as dinner ended. Fortunately for Castle, he had company – not in the form of the hot, no-nonsense detective, but in the form of a fun-loving monster hunter who sported a tattoo on her right arm.

The look on Alexis' face when she told Castle that Faith was here was amusing; it was almost a cross between the look she would give her father after a one-night stand and the glare she shot his way the day Meredith swooped into town to take her out for lunch – in Paris.

"Cute kid," Faith said as she plopped herself down in one of the chairs across from Castle's desk. "Never woulda pegged you for Mr. Mom, though."

A smirk played across Castle's features, even as he downed his drink. Setting the glass aside, he returned to his desk, grunting as he lowered himself into his chair. Castle wasn't old – really, he wasn't – but his knees occasionally liked to try reminding him otherwise.

Once he was comfortable, and stealing a quick glance at his laptop, where the unfinished manuscript for _Heat Wave_ taunted him, Castle leaned back and regarded Faith with a quirked brow. Then, pouring himself another glass of scotch, he pointed.

"So what's your deal?" He asked before downing his glass. "What's your interest in Beckett?"

"Oooooh, no," Faith smirked, reaching for the bottle of scotch and taking a swig directly from it. "That's a Giles question."

"Believe me, I asked." The writer sighed. "He's less forthcoming than the CIA."

"G-man's not big of specifics," Faith shrugged, cracking her knuckles. "But she's on Wolfram &amp; Hart's radar, and that rings all sorts of alarms with the Council."

Castle frowned and sat up a little straighter. "Wolfram &amp; Hart? The law firm?"

"Right, the law firm." Faith smirked. "The same way Angel's _just_ a P.I."

"Yeah, _about_ him…" Castle rose from his chair, setting the empty glass on his desk before crossing to the empty chair beside Faith. The Slayer's quip about the law firm tugged on his latent curiosity, but for the moment, Castle decided to leave that mystery for another time. It was unusual for him, but his conversation with Angel the other night had practically gnawed at him ever since.

"Did you know he and Beckett used to be a thing?"

"Kinda figured," Faith shrugged. "His scowl is less scowl-y when she's around."

"Let me guess," Castle leaned in closer, his eyebrows waggling the way they always did when he was unraveling a tale, "things are going great, the monster hunter and the private eye, until…oops! She finds out he's undead. The very thing she's sworn to kill. A Slayer and a vampire together…as plot twists go, it doesn't suck."

Faith watched the writer ramble on, her brows arched in amusement. He really was like a nine-year-old on a sugar rush, wasn't he? She shook her head and suppressed the smirk that tugged on her lips.

"Or maybe…" Castle's features darkened. "Was it Angelus?"

All amusement left Faith's features, her heart skipping a beat as her hand instinctively went to the side of her neck. For the most part, the scars had healed, but every so often, she could still feel the pull of skin, the raised flesh reminding her of just how close she had come to her own demise.

"What do you know about Angelus?" Faith asked, paler than usual.

Castle shrugged and shook his head. "Not much, just…how bad was this guy?"

Bolting out of her chair, Faith leaned down to press a hand to Castle's shoulder. She glared at him with dark eyes, darker than usual, colored by a fear he had yet to see in the woman. Brown locks framed her face, giving her a rather ominous look.

"Trust me when I say you don't wanna know," she whispered.

Castle watched as Faith crossed over to where his office led into the living room, his mouth agape. "You've seen Angelus, haven't you?"

Faith stopped at the doorway, turning to regard the writer again. Truth was, she kind of liked being around Castle. He was fun, in his own unique way, and based on what she knew of Detective Beckett, Faith knew he could be good for her under the right circumstances. But something told her that wouldn't be the case, especially if Wolfram &amp; Hart was involved and if Castle insisted on poking his nose into things he really didn't need to be dabbling in.

"Rick," Faith shook her head, "some mysteries are better left unsolved."


	13. Chapter 13: The Process

_**Author's Note: Slowly but surely, this fic is plugging along. I promise I'll get better at updating more frequently! Celebrating #CastleFanficMonday.**_

* * *

_Manhattan…_

As a Boston native and a diehard Red Sox fan, Faith Lehane had an ingrained distaste for New York. Those damn Yankees were the bane of Bostonians' existence, Faith had been told at times, and it got to a point before her calling where the mere mention of the Big Apple made her shudder.

But now that Faith was older, hopefully wiser, and having experienced some of the worst the world had to offer, New York didn't seem so bad. Not that she planned on renting her own loft in SoHo and making this place her home, but fact was she didn't really mind being here.

For all her peculiarities, Kate Beckett was an intriguing person to be around. Faith, traditionally never one to try to figure people out, couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the surface of the other Slayer. Then there was her shadow, the mystery writer who intrigued her in other ways. What was _his_ story? What drew him to Detective Beckett, aside from the obvious?

And why couldn't he be about ten years younger?

Even with her assignment, Faith still made it a point to go on her nightly patrols – mostly for her own benefit, but also because New York was a large city and there was no telling how many Slayers there were. To say nothing of the possibility of there being Slayers in the city who didn't realize they were Slayers – another by-product of the spell turning every Potential into a Slayer, since there was no corresponding spell to create a Watcher for every new Slayer.

In that regard, Faith had been fortunate. She'd had someone guiding her, even when she was a Potential, and while it still hurt to think of what became of her first Watcher, at least Faith had one. Many of today's demon fighters weren't so lucky.

The sound of something crashing against the side of a dumpster caught Faith's attention, and she immediately grabbed for the dagger on her hip as she pressed her back against the brick wall. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a black-clad figure hunched over another figure, lying on the ground. She heard the sickening sound of flesh being ripped open, then the telltale crack of bone.

Strangely enough, though, there was no scream. Maybe that meant whoever this was had already died. Faith tightened her grip on her blade before springing from her spot against the wall, charging the figure and tackling it to the ground. By the time they both landed on the cold, damp ground, Faith saw the bloody heart in the figure's hand, springing back to her feet.

Without another thought, Faith straddled the figure before it had a chance to get back to its feet and jammed her dagger into its chest. The resulting scream of pain gave her pause, and Faith released her grip on the weapon before grabbing the black mask and pulling it off. Once she saw the face of a man glaring back at her, she got back to her feet and covered her mouth, tears building in her eyes.

"Ow!" The man cringed and struggled back to his feet before grabbing the weapon and yanking it out. The resultant wound closed up almost immediately, and the man tossed the dagger back at Faith's feet. "Well, now that was rude."

Unable to tear her gaze from the man, Faith shook her head. "What are you?"

"Pissed off, is what I am," he said, approaching the Slayer. "You're interfering with the process!"

Once the man came within reach, Faith grabbed his right wrist and snapped it at a 90-degree angle, taking perverse satisfaction in the sound of it snapping. The man barely flinched otherwise as Faith spun out of his reach before approaching again, ramming her elbow into his nose before grabbing him by the shoulders and tossing him across the alley and into the dumpster.

The man got back to his feet far quicker than Faith expected, reaching for the heart he had dropped and holding it up for the Slayer to see. "You're strong," he said. "But I'm stronger, and before this is all over, no one will be able to stop me. Not you, not anyone."

Before Faith could approach again, the man leapt atop the dumpster before using it as a springboard to climb the side of the building. Being dressed all in black, it didn't take long for Faith to lose sight of the man, and she cursed under her breath as she wiped the blood off her dagger and returned it to it sheath.

Much to her disgust, there was blood on her hands. Not only had the blade of her dagger been soaked in it, but there was plenty on the handle as well, thanks to the figure's hands-on method in which he had killed that other person.

Even when she was the hero, Faith always had blood on her hands.

Approaching the body, Faith sighed when she saw the gaping chest wound and the severed sternum. Fishing out her phone, Faith frowned when something shiny caught her eye. Leaning in, Faith noticed that the dead body was wearing a police uniform, and the name tag read _Hastings_. She swallowed back the nausea tugging at her gut – because if there was any way for this to get any worse, the fact that the body belonged to a cop was it.

"Detective Beckett," she spoke into her phone. "We have a problem."

The Slayer began pacing, but stopped when she saw a poster hanging off the wall. The red, white, and blue poster urged people to consider supporting United States Senator William H. Bracken, but it was his smiling mugshot that stopped Faith in her tracks.

Because Senator Bracken looked _just_ like the man she had just stabbed in the chest.

"Officer down in an alley off 53rd," she said, shaking her head and trying not to let her mind drift to the place it was automatically going. "It's a gruesome one, Detective B…and definitely not normal."

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

As soon as Kate Beckett walked into the interrogation room, she set her notepad onto the table, took her seat, and disconnected the microphone embedded into the center of the table. Faith hadn't told her everything about the crime scene, but once Kate saw it with her own eyes, she knew this was as much a Slayer case as it was a homicide investigation.

Faith glanced at the two-way mirror. "Where's Writer Boy?"

"Medics are looking him over," Kate said with a shrug. "Been heaving his guts out since he got to the crime scene."

Most of the time, that would be cause for a joke, for merciless teasing that drug out for days, if not weeks. But as gruesome as the scene was, neither Faith nor Kate could blame him, and the fact that the victim was one of the NYPD's own meant the usual crass humor that dotted the precinct was nowhere to be found.

"Any idea what did that to Officer Hastings?"

"Not what," Faith said with a shake of her head. "Who."

Kate frowned and dropped her pen. "You saw it happen?"

Faith shrugged. "More or less. By the time I got there, she was already dead. I tackled her attacker, we fought, I stabbed him in the chest, but…he just pulled the blade out and came at me again."

"Vampire?"

Faith shook her head. "My vampire sense wasn't tingling."

"So…demon of some sort."

"See, that's what was really weird," Faith said before cringing. "I mean, more weird than usual. The guy who killed that girl, who attacked me? It was Senator Bracken."

Kate's brows arched. "As in United States Senator William H. Bracken?"

"Look, I know how it sounds-"

"And a few years ago, I'd have sent you over for a psych hearing," Kate interrupted. "But I've seen enough to know not to immediately discount what you're saying. But Faith, this is a big accusation you're making. A sitting Senator with aspirations of becoming President-"

"I know," Faith said. "And maybe I'm just touchy cause I've seen this before."

"What do you mean?"

"Richard Wilkins," Faith explained. "Used to be mayor in Sunnydale. It's a long, sordid tale, but the upshot is…" The Slayer stopped herself with a shake of her head, reluctant to even entertain the notion. Experiencing an Ascension first-hand was a harrowing enough memory; the fact that Faith was more or less on Wilkins' side at the time, having given in to her darker urges, made it all the worse.

She had been largely blind to Wilkins' deadly ambition, largely because he doted on her and gave her the sort of attention she craved. When others had turned their backs on her, when it seemed like everything was crashing in around her, Mayor Wilkins had been her friend, her confidant – hell, a father figure, even.

Sure, he was a murderous fuckwit, but Mayor Wilkins had cared about Faith when no one else did. Even so, Faith might've been reformed, but the last thing she wanted was to face another Ascension.

"Faith." Kate leaned in. "The upshot."

"Ascension," Faith forced herself to say. "Think of it as…a graduation of sorts." A fitting description, given the circumstances surrounding Mayor Wilkins' attempt.

"Graduation from what?"

"From humanity." Faith leaned in, lowering her voice even though she knew this conversation wasn't being recorded. She didn't feel like testing the thickness of the drab walls surrounding them. "When Mayor Wilkins ascended, he became the very embodiment of an Old One."

Kate frowned. "Old One."

"The original demons." Faith shook her head. "Angel would know more than me, but basically, the demons we fight today? Those are hybrids, merged with humans over the centuries. The Old Ones, the pure demons? They're bad shit, B…not even we could take 'em."

Kate shook her head again, for the moment ignoring that god-awful nickname. "So…what? Bracken wants to be one of these Old Ones?"

"I don't know." Faith sprung from her chair and started pacing around the interrogation room, her hands slipping into the back pockets of her jeans. "But think about it, why would a Senator go around killing people with his bare hands and taking their hearts?"

"Well, suffice to say, I need to give Senator Bracken a look."

"Talk to Angel," Faith said. "I'll call Giles, get him to share everything he has from the last Ascension."

"And whatever we do," Kate added, opening the door and following Faith into the bullpen, "we don't leak one word of this to Castle. If you're right, and this is really as bad as it sounds, he doesn't need to be a part of it."

"Hey, no argument here," Faith said. "But how you gonna shake him?"

"Actually," a teasing grin spread across the detective's face, "I was hoping you'd help with that."


	14. Chapter 14: Blast From the Past

_**Author's Note: Things are really about to pick up now. Hope everyone's enjoying the ride so far!**_

* * *

"Seriously?!"

Faith Lehane was incredulous. She had spent the better part of two hours squeezing herself into a dress she could never dream to afford. Her heels were already killing her feet, despite the fact that she hadn't even been wearing them for twenty minutes. To say nothing of the fact that this wardrobe was _so_ not her style, but now her date for the evening didn't even want to go? How could he be glued to his laptop when his car service was waiting for them downstairs?

Where Faith a more insecure woman, she might feel some type of way about this.

"Richard _freaking_ Castle," she chided, slipping out of her black heels and stepping into the writer's office, "do you mean to tell me you'd rather spend the night squinting into your laptop than on the dance floor with me?"

Castle's eyes rose from the screen and his shoulders deflated. "It's not about what I want," he complained. "Black Pawn needs the first draft of _Heat Wave_, and I'm overdue."

"And that's what you get for trying to play cop," Faith chided. "Besides, I thought Gina was your ex-wife – emphasis on _ex_. Don't tell me she's still got you whipped."

"If by _whipped_, you mean _contractually obligated_, yes."

"Whatever," Faith shrugged. "You promised me dancing and booze."

He did. Once he had gotten over the shock of Faith asking him out – he couldn't remember the last time someone who looked like her wanted anything more to do with him than an illicitly-placed autograph and maybe one night she could spend the rest of her life bragging to her friends about. And while Castle still couldn't figure out why Faith wanted to go out with him, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Especially with his mother and daughter out for the evening, catching some Broadway production he couldn't pronounce. To be perfectly honest, he'd already made Gina wait two extra weeks for his manuscript; what was one more night?

Castle closed his laptop and rose from his chair, unfurling the sleeves of his burgundy button-down that had been rolled to his elbows. He stopped inches from Faith, cocking his head to the side as one of his trademark boyish grins crept onto his face.

"Then what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't keep my word?" Castle asked, slipping a hand around Faith's waist. His eyes gave her a once-over, and the twinkle in his blue eyes grew. "Especially for someone as gorgeous as you."

Faith ducked her head to hide the blush on her cheeks. She wasn't used to being dressed up like this, and she certainly wasn't used to being called gorgeous. A lot of words had been used to describe Faith's appearance over the years, but gorgeous had rarely been one of them. She honestly didn't know what to make of it.

Then again, this date was as much subterfuge as anything else. Detective Beckett was looking into Senator Bracken after Faith had shared with her what little intel she had on Ascensions, and their joint efforts to keep Castle out of the loop apparently included Faith sauntering about in a dress that left very little to the imagination.

To his credit, Castle was trying not to let his eyes wander as they left his loft. He was failing, but at least he was trying. Faith smirked as they rode the elevator down to the ground level, taking some sort of pride that she could still elicit that sort of reaction in a man.

In many ways, Faith still had it.

"Keep talking like that," she teased as they left Castle's building and approached the car that was waiting for them, "and there might be more than just dancing."

His boyish grin widened as they both crept into the back of the waiting car, and Castle tapped on the glass partition to let the driver know they were ready to leave. As the car pulled out of its spot and took its place in line in traffic, Faith placed her hand on Castle's knee – all while her other hand sent a quick text.

_He's with me, do your thing B._

* * *

_Wolfram &amp; Hart…_

"This is gonna work, right?"

William Bracken was normally a patient man, content to sit back and let things unfold naturally. Being a United States Senator, the last thing he needed was to rush things; the very nature of the deliberative body was to move at a snail's pace. Change was neither swift nor sweeping in D.C., and he had found the same was true in life.

Even the process of Ascension, to which he had already dedicated several decades, was a deliberate process. Over fifty years into his journey, and Bracken hadn't even accomplished half of what he needed to.

But after his run-in the previous night with a Slayer, Bracken wanted to speed things up. The police had never bothered him, because his connections and his stature as a U.S. Senator insulated him. But if Slayers were on his tail, that was an entirely new ballgame. He remembered how the last Ascension had gone so wrong, and he was determined to make sure he didn't suffer the same fate.

Not that he wasn't still working other angles; as they spoke, Lilah Morgan was trying to track down the file, the one implicating him in a scheme that took place roughly fifteen years ago – a scheme that, if it got out, would guarantee the end of his political career. And while Bracken's sights were on something a little bigger than the White House, he had to admit: President Bracken had a nice ring to it.

Besides, President could be just another rung on the ladder.

"Trust me, Senator," Lindsey McDonald said, "we know exactly what we're doing."

A large steel cage sat on the floor in one of Wolfram &amp; Hart's many sub-basements, torches lighting the otherwise pitch black cavern. A hooded figure paced around the cage, chanting in a language Bracken didn't recognize, tossing handfuls of some sort of dust into the cage. When the hooded figure turned so Bracken could see its face, he noticed a leathery quality to the figure's skin, which was black and red. Yellow teeth were sharp, and the voice carried with it a dark quality that sent a chill down the Senator's spine.

One last sprinkle of dust atop the cage and a flash of blue light filled the basement. Bracken and McDonald each shielded their eyes from the light, and once it died down and their eyes adjusted, the Senator and the lawyer approached the cage.

"Be of care," the hooded figure snarled. "We know not what awaits."

Lindsey rolled his eyes as Bracken stood in front of the cage, circling around it once before kneeling in front of it and carefully removing the heavy metal lock. He swung the door open, the quiet squeak made all the louder by the silence of the basement. He looked up just in time to see the hooded figure disappear in a cloud of smoke.

By the time Bracken returned his attention to the cage, a naked male figure crawled out. Clearly weak, its skin pale – and hair even paler – the figure dug its fingers into the soft ground, gritting its teeth before stumbling back to its feet.

Bracken locked eyes with Lindsey, who took a step back and grabbed one of the torches.

The Senator stood and placed a careful hand on the naked man's shoulder. "Can you hear me?"

The man snarled, but otherwise had no reaction.

Lindsey approached with the torch as Bracken grabbed the naked man's other shoulder, turning him so he could look in his eyes. "William…"

The man growled, his eyes large and yellow as he tackled Bracken to the ground. The Senator grunted in pain as his back slammed against the dirt, and the naked man tugged violently on the lapels of his suit. The man was actually no man at all, bearing his fangs, the shadows dancing off his face from the flames making the ridges on his forehead even more menacing.

The vampire's nostrils flared, and he lowered himself even closer to Bracken until the Senator could smell the rotting flesh. Bracken turned his head with a disgusted grunt, his hands balling into fists.

"Back off, Spike!"

The vampire looked up at the sound of Lindsey's voice, just in time to feel the unlit end of the torch smack against his jaw. Spike tumbled to the ground, releasing his grip on Bracken. The Senator stumbled back to his feet, straightening his tie and glaring at Lindsey before both men towered over the disoriented monster.

"So," Bracken mused with an arched brow, "this is William the Bloody."

Lindsey shrugged. "He's more impressive when he's dressed."

Recognition flared in Spike's eyes as his face morphed back to its human mask. He gathered himself back up enough to sit, a trail of blood trickling from his chin and down his neck. He glanced at his surroundings with a furrowed brow before staring at the two well-dressed men standing over him.

He then glanced down at himself and sighed.

"Oh, bugger."

* * *

_Los Angeles, 2004…_

Of course it would be pouring down rain. It wouldn't be a final apocalyptic battle if there wasn't a giant rain storm. Angel stood with what was left of his crew – Spike, a mortally-wounded Charles Gunn, and reluctant ally Illyria – sword in-hand as he watched the minions of hell swarming in on them.

The Circle of the Black Thorn had been every bit as formidable as they had expected, to the point where one of their own had already fallen. The four of them mourned the death of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce in their own way. Angel and Gunn were filled with sorrow for the loss of their friend, Spike lamenting the fact that their numbers had been reduced by one.

Illyria? Well, that was much more complicated. She said she wished to do more violence, and as the monsters closed in, it was becoming clear the weakened Old One would get her wish.

"In terms of a plan?" Spike shouted over the pouring rain.

Angel kept his gaze skyward. "We fight."

"Bit more specific."

Angel hoisted the sword in his grasp, twirling it in his hands. "Well, personally, I kind of wanna slay the dragon." One more twirl of the sword, and Angel stared into the sky, directly into the rain pouring down on them. "Let's go to work."

Much of the fight was a blur. Swords clashed together, generating sparks that died out as soon as they came about because of the rain. Illyria made up for her relative lack of strength with a fury and a pain none of them had seen, using her grief over the loss of her reluctant mentor to unleash untold bloodshed on the masses.

But for every demon Illyria dismembered, that many more spilled into the alley. Gunn had been cornered by a hulking beast with tusks the size of his waist, the black man's weakened state making it far too easy for the demon to finish the job.

Angel got his wish, whether he wanted it or not, hitching a ride onto the dragon and trying to hang on for dear life as the beast soared through the air, dipping and rolling in a complete circle in an attempt to throw him. Angel had been so busy trying to hang on that he couldn't use the sword in his grasp.

In fact, when the dragon swiped along the side of a skyscraper, Angel lost his grip on the weapon.

His face already bloody and battered, Spike fought with every ounce of strength he had. His second apocalyptic event in the past year, it seemed, Spike lamented the fact that he didn't have a magic amulet around his neck this time, one that could incinerate his foes without him lifting a finger.

Never mind the fact that the amulet also incinerated him.

But the monster with the tusks had turned its attention to Spike, Gunn's blood caked into its scaly fingers. Spike dodged the first blow, but in his weakened state, the vampire couldn't dodge the next, as he took a massive fist to the side of his head that knocked him to the ground and dislodged the weapon from his grasp.

Before Spike could get back to his feet, the demon grabbed him, both hands on either side of his face. Spike, now wearing the face of the demon within, snarled and swung his fists at the monster – only to realize his arms weren't long enough to reach.

The demon growled, tightening its grip on Spike's head to the point that he could feel his own skull cracking and digging into his brain. Spike grunted and howled in pain, before the demon tossed him against a brick wall and pinned him there by wrapping a hand around his neck. Blood trickled out of Spike's ears, and he closed his eyes in resignation.

This was really it this time. No more spells, no more rituals. Spike was going to die much the way he had lived for the last century and a half.

When the demon ripped off Spike's head, and his body disintegrated in the rain, he never even had a chance to scream.

* * *

_London…_

Faith Lehane's latest correspondence filled Rupert Giles with a dread he hadn't felt since returning to his native country. In fact, such dread had been in short supply since his permanent return from Sunnydale, California – in large part because whenever something massive threatened to come to pass, they had the Slayers and resources they needed to stem the evil.

But this…if there was another Ascension in the works…

Things were much worse in New York than Giles had feared. It was bad enough that there had been a Slayer in the Big Apple who had no guidance, no Watcher, and was on Wolfram &amp; Hart's radar. The fact that Kate Beckett was now staring at a potential apocalypse, with nothing more than Faith by her side, gave Giles pause.

Not that Faith was incapable, but two Slayers weren't enough to avert an Ascension. As it was, the only reason the Ascension in Sunnydale had been thwarted was because they somehow managed to get their hands on a shitload of explosives.

Giles snatched a copy of _The New York Times_, heaving another sigh. Further complicating Kate Beckett's life was the fact that she now had a shadow. Giles had regretted telling Richard Castle the story of the First Slayer; he should've known the mystery writer's rampant curiosity would lead him to find answers any way he could.

Sure, the article only mentioned Castle shadowing a detective with the NYPD, but Giles knew enough about the man to know that it probably went a little further than that.

The last thing he wanted was a civilian in the middle of this.

Removing his glasses, Giles reached for his phone and swiped at the screen. Shaking his head, he called up the Skype app on his device, making a series of gestures with his thumb before a call went out.

Once connected, he was face-to-face with Buffy Summers.

"Hey, Giles," she said in a cheery tone, though her expression immediately hardened. "Okay, what's wrong? You've got scowl-y face."

"I need you to go to New York."

Buffy frowned and glanced over her shoulder. "Why?"

"Things are worse than we thought," he said. "We have reason to believe there's an Ascension brewing."

Buffy visibly paled. "Ascension."

"Yes." Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have Faith on the ground, and there is another Slayer."

"Beckett, I know." Buffy sighed and shook her head. "I gotta deal with the writer too?"

Giles sighed. "I hope not. The sooner you can get to New York, the better. Faith has already provided me with intel. I'll forward it to you."

"What about you? We gonna have a big Sunnydale reunion in the Big Apple?"

"If that's what it takes to avoid another Apocalypse." Giles put his glasses back on. "Let me know when you've landed. I'll hit the books."


	15. Chapter 15: Railroaded

_**Author's Note: And now we're getting to a plot point I have wanted to write FOREVER - y'all have no idea. This fic has already been a blast to write, now it's about to get even better. I can't wait to unfold it all for you. Thanks for the support! Reviews are love.**_

* * *

_Manhattan…_

One of Amtrak's lines ran along the Hudson River up through Manhattan, giving travelers a great view of the water as they went by, regardless of whether they were traveling north or south. But as crime scenes went, the train tracks were one of the worst places one could find a body. The area surrounding the tracks was dirty, rust was all over the place, and even without a corpse lying in wait, the smell was unmistakable and foul.

But as a native New Yorker, Kate Beckett was used to all of these things. So when she got the call about a body drop and found out where it was, she brushed it off while some who weren't native might've bristled.

What she wasn't prepared for, though, was the body itself. Kate was used to her share of badly-disfigured or dismembered bodies, gaping wounds and body parts bending in ways they shouldn't bend. It came with the territory of her job – both as a homicide cop and as a Slayer. But as Kate ducked under the yellow crime scene tape and snapped on her latex gloves, she was glad she hadn't yet had breakfast.

That self-gratitude faded into annoyance as a roaring engine pierced the morning air, and Kate turned just in time to see a candy apple red Ferrari storming onto the scene before screeching to a halt. With the car in park, Kate quirked a brow when she saw Richard Castle emerging from the passenger's seat, two cups of coffee in-hand as Faith leaped out of the driver's seat and stuffed the keys down the front of her shirt.

As entrances went, that was…something.

"How nice of you two to join us so early," the detective snarked with a roll of the eyes. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"Trust me, Detective," Castle said as he strode by, handing her one of the cups and removing his sunglasses, "we wouldn't be here if you did."

Kate mimed a sip, still not trusting her stomach in light of the gruesome scene before her. A blood trail went at least a good fifteen feet to the edge of the tracks, and an ID through facial recognition would be impossible due to the damage done to the victim's head. Kate and Faith exchanged a glance and a smirk before all three of them approached the body.

Lanie Parish was already on-scene, in her traditional crouch as she studied the victim's body. She'd been at this for so long that she could tell when Kate was by her side without even looking up. Tucking her pen behind her ear, Lanie shook her head. "You're gonna love this one, Kate. All kinds of messy and gross and _weird_."

"Ooh," Castle said, "I like weird."

Lanie and Kate rolled their eyes in unison, before the ME looked up to see Faith standing behind Castle. Lanie quirked a brow at her friend. "Girl, what the hell? You collecting civilians or something?"

"Don't mind her," Kate said. "Or _him_, for that matter. Find anything?"

"You mean other than the giant railroad spike sticking out of the guy's head?" Lanie shook her head and rose to her feet. "Girl, you know I won't have anything more for you until I get him back to the lab."

Kate quirked a brow. "And you know I have to ask."

Castle joined the detective in front of the mangled corpse, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow. It was easily one of the most disgusting bodies he'd seen in his short time shadowing Kate, and he was thankful that he had a strong stomach.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he offered, "but I doubt I am – aren't railroad spikes heavy?" He shrugged when Kate tossed him a glare over her shoulder. "Railroad workers can't just jam them into the proper holes. It requires hammers, a lot of force, sometimes more than one person."

Lanie quirked a brow. "What are you getting at?"

"Jamming a railroad spike into someone's head? So hard that it comes clear out the other side? Either we're looking for the Incredible Hulk, or we may be looking at more than one person."

As much as Kate hated to admit it, Castle had a point. Her reluctance had nothing to do with his level of helpfulness – he'd actually proven to be quite resourceful in his own way. Just last week, he had provided insight that led to the team solving the murder of a self-professed psychic (much to Castle's chagrin, she had not actually seen her death coming).

Kate's reluctance stemmed from the fact that if Castle's theory was correct – that someone of enhanced strength was responsible for this – that meant she probably wasn't looking for a suspect who could be charged and tried like normal. Kate hated murders that wound up like this, because the last thing she wanted to do as a cop was slide a file into the archive room marked "Unsolved."

She knew what that felt like. She knew what that meant. Chances were, this victim's family would never know what happened to them. Officially, the NYPD would probably be able to do little more than shrug its shoulders and offer condolences.

Sure, Kate herself might track down the monster and hack it to bits, which would be just and cathartic in the short term, but for those grieving the loss of the victim? Unless they also lived their lives in the day-to-day of the supernatural underbelly, it wouldn't be enough for them.

Rolling her eyes, Kate shook her head. "Dust the spike for prints when you get a chance."

Lanie shook her head as she shed her gloves and returned to the navy blue van in which she had come to the crime scene. "You know I will."

* * *

_Wolfram &amp; Hart…_

Staying in his office overnight was such a common occurrence for Lindsey McDonald that he didn't even blink an eye anymore when it happened. In fact, as he left his 11:45 p.m. meeting with the Director of Special Projects, Lindsey smirked to himself at the thought that he hadn't seen his SoHo loft in three full days.

Then again, forever being on Wolfram &amp; Hart's leash despite his unceremonious death – being double-tapped in a rundown bar by a Pylean empath demon – meant that not going home after work was among the least of Lindsey's worries.

The fact that he was yet again paired up with Lilah Morgan, his rival-slash-colleague from the Los Angeles branch, was yet another rotten cherry on top of this left-out-in-the-sun-too-long sundae.

Lindsey locked the door to his office behind him, enveloping himself in total darkness since the blinds to the window overlooking the Manhattan skyline were closed. He preferred the dark, because it reminded him of the briefs moments where he could truly savor death – before the Senior Partners plucked him out of wherever he was and turned him into the eternal example of what it meant to cross them.

Loosening his tie and tossing it across his office, Lindsey sank into his leather chair with a sigh. As much as he craved the darkness, Lindsey couldn't finish preparing for the next morning's deposition in pitch black. He was representing a woman accused of killing a psychic, and he had to be on top of his game because the detective who investigated the case was the one he hated going up against the most.

Picking apart a Kate Beckett case in court was akin to torture. He much preferred being stuck in a hell dimension, letting a demon rip his heart out day after day.

The lawyer flipped the switch on his lamp, bathing himself in harsh light.

"You should know better than that," he spoke into the darkness. "Hiding in the darkness? That's such an Angel move."

Silently, Spike emerged from the black, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, his face contorted into the visage of the vampire. He stood in silence, hands balled into fists as he studied the lawyer. The light played with the shadows created by the creases and ridges on his forehead, and after several moments of silence, Spike snarled.

"You ever been resurrected?" he hissed. "Bloody well hurts."

"Yeah," Lindsey reclined in his chair. "I'm aware."

"Dying hurts," the vampire mused. "It burns you, inside and out. Twists your sodding gut until you scream yourself hoarse. But being brought back?" Spike sucked in a needless breath, anger flaring in his feral eyes. "I didn't ask for that amulet, and I _bloody well_ didn't ask for this!"

"It's not about you, Spike," Lindsey countered.

Spike shook his head and snarled, approaching the lawyer's desk. His movements were stiff and jerky, as if he were getting used to using his body again. Pale and aged, it was nevertheless chiseled from supernatural prowess. Spike uncurled his fists to stare at his hands, his mouth opening to expose his fangs.

The memory of his final moments were vivid in Spike's mind. That climactic battle in the rain, alongside people he considered allies, maybe even friends. Another battle roughly a year before that, in the bowels of the Hellmouth, his body incinerating as he took out hoards of ancient vampires with him.

The flashes sickened him, and Spike slammed his hand into Lindsey's desk with a growl, splinters digging into his palm.

"You brought me back, and _for what_?!" he pleaded. "And you…you _monkey around_ in my head, give me memories that aren't real?"

The lawyer sat up with a frown. "What?"

"This is your work, innit?" Spike asked, poking himself in the temple. "Nice work, really. A soul, being a bloody hero…falling in love with _a Slayer_? You lot should be writers."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why would you make me think I ever fell in love with the Slayer?" Spike asked through gritted teeth, reaching across the desk to grab Lindsey by the lapels of his suit. "Why would I fall in love with a bint I wanted to kill?"

"William the Bloody."

The third voice announced itself in the commotion, and as Spike glanced over his shoulder in confusion, he loosened his grip on Lindsey. The vampire straightened his posture, quirking a brow when another man in a fine-tailored suit emerged from the shadows. This man sported an American flag pin on his lapel and closely-cropped hair.

"That's one thing you and I have in common," the man spoke, hands in his pockets. "There are those on Capitol Hill who call me William the Bloody. For different reasons, of course, but still…if the name fits."

The man extended his right hand and Spike stared at it.

"William Bracken," the man introduced himself. "United States Senator."

"Fantastic," Spike scoffed. "What, you want my vote or something?"

"Or something," Senator Bracken said, leaning against Lindsey's desk. "Your reputation precedes you, William, and fact of the matter is, you're exactly what I need."

"First off," Spike closed the distance between himself and the Senator, snarling when he caught a whiff of something less than human off of Bracken, "call me Spike. Secondly, why don't we skip the chit chat and get to the part where I tell you to sod off?"

"Because you're not going to," Bracken countered. "You've killed two Slayers in your day, correct?"

Spike shrugged before fishing a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, lighting one and taking that luscious first drag before his Zippo _clacked_ shut. "Should be three."

Bracken shrugged. "Could still be."

Spike exchanged a glance with Lindsey before taking his own seat on the surface of the desk. "All ears, mate."

"Right now, there are two Slayers in New York City," Bracken explained. "Frankly, I don't give a damn about one of them, but the other? Oh, she has the potential to be quite the thorn in my side, and I can't have that."

Spike shook his head, cigarette clutched between his lips. "What would a Slayer want to do with you?"

"Long story," Bracken waved off the vampire's concern. "But, and this should be of particular interest to you, the Slayer in question is quite cozy with someone from your past. A certain…vampire with a soul, I believe?"

Anger and disbelief weighed down on Spike as his hands again balled into fists and he puffed even harder on his cigarette. "Angel…"

"So here's my proposal," Bracken continued, "you take out this Slayer, up your kill count, maybe get yourself a little revenge on your vampire Judas…and we all walk away very, very happy."

"What's in it for me?"

Bracken shrugged. "What do you want?"

Pushing himself off the edge of Lindsey's desk, Spike got in Bracken's face, smirking when he saw the Senator flinch at the invasion of his personal space – and the unmistakable stench of death that Spike carried.

"Angel in a dustpan," he answered. "And Buffy Summers' head on a silver platter."

A dark smile crept onto Senator Bracken's face. "Then all you have to do is kill Kate Beckett."


	16. Chapter 16: Reunion

_**Author's Note: If nothing else, this fic is teaching me how to juggle multiple plot points all at once. Keep reading and reviewing!**_

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

Most of the time, the white dry-erase board that stood adjacent to Kate Beckett's desk was a safe haven. Every tidbit in an investigation – every name, every date, every instance in a particular timeline – was laid out for her and Detectives Ryan and Esposito to see, and almost without fail, having everything laid out like this led to that _a-ha!_ moment.

Alas, there was no such moment right now. Just an incredibly gruesome photograph of the victim, a large railroad spike still splitting into his head like he was mounted to a rotisserie spool. Lanie had managed to get a positive ID – the victim was a 43-year-old construction worker named Marc Velazquez – and Ryan and Esposito were off to contact next-of-kin.

But the victim's ID was all Kate had to go on. No matter how intently she stared at the murder board, no matter how hard she bit her lower lip, the big break wasn't coming. Marc's financials were normal, he had little family to speak of, and outside of his job, there was hardly anything remarkable about this man.

It made discovering who drove a large hunk of metal through his skull maddening.

Kate's concentration broke when she noticed Castle standing to her right, two mugs of freshly-brewed coffee in his hands. She had been angry at him the previous week when he'd had a high-end espresso machine delivered to the precinct – after saying their break room coffee was like "a monkey peed in battery acid" – but after the first mug he made for her, to perfection, she let it go.

Now she accepted his offering with a smile, savoring that first sip. It wasn't quite her regular order, but damn if it wasn't what she needed right now.

"Thank you," she said.

"Hey," Faith bolted from one of the desks behind Kate's, approaching the murder board with a quirked brow, "how come you never make _me_ coffee?"

Castle shrugged. "You're more of a whiskey and tequila girl."

"True," Faith said with a shrug, ignoring the quizzical glance Kate threw her way and approaching the murder board. "So…we got a name for this guy. What else?"

"Just one hell of a mess," Castle said.

"I hate to admit it," Kate shook her head, "but Castle's right. We _just_ got an ID. There are no prints or anything else on the murder weapon, and trace evidence at the scene was practically nonexistent. CSU's going over the place again, but they won't find anything."

Castle shook his head, sipping at his own coffee. "Starting to think this may be a 'what killed Marc' instead of a 'who'."

"Yeah, well, if that's the case, I'm sending you home," Kate said, placing a hand on Castle's chest before he could mount a protest. "You know the rules, Castle. You shadow me on murder cases. You witness interrogations, you even add your insight when it's not some half-baked theory that your editors would toss into the trash. But when it spills into my other life, you step aside. Got it?"

"While I appreciate your concern for my well-being," Castle said, smirking at the annoyed glare the detective shot his way, "need I remind you of how we met?"

"Sorry, Ricky," Faith folded her arms over her chest, "I'm with Detective B on this one."

Before Castle could respond, the elevator doors opened. The writer and the two Slayers turned, expecting it to be Detectives Ryan and Esposito returning from notifying Marc's sister of his death – but instead, they were met with a diminutive blonde woman who walked onto the bullpen floor with a black shoulder bag and a confused look on her face.

"Excuse me," she said to a uniformed officer who passed by, "I'm looking for a Detective Beckett?"

"That's me," Kate said, pushing her way past Castle and approaching the blonde. They shook hands once the two women were within inches of each other, and Kate arched a brow when she noticed the blonde's grip was as tight as her own. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, that's a bit of a long—"

"Hey, B."

The blonde looked over Kate's shoulder, her brow furrowing slightly when she saw Faith standing behind the detective with a quirked brow and that shit-eating smirk that the blonde had so often wanted to smack off her face.

"Faith," Buffy said, shifting the weight between her feet as her shoulders briefly hunched. "Didn't expect to see you in a police station." The blonde glanced back at Kate. "What did she do this time?"

Kate glanced between the two women. "You know each other."

"Kate Beckett," Faith shrugged, "meet Buffy Summers."

"_The_ Buffy Summers?!" Castle exclaimed loud enough to get the attention of the entire bullpen, approaching the trio of women with all the glee of a nine-year-old on a sugar rush in the middle of a Toys-R-Us. He clasped his hands together and glanced at Kate. "You didn't tell me _she_ was coming!"

Buffy quirked a brow. "I'm guessing you're Richard Castle."

Castle blinked, taken aback even as a sideways grin crept onto his face. "You've heard of me."

"Yeah, Giles warned me about you." Ignoring the frown that grew on the writer's face, Buffy lifted the shoulder bag off of herself and tossed it onto an empty desk to her left. "So…got anywhere we can talk? Slayer-to-Slayer…" Her eyes again found Faith. "…to-Slayer?"

"Faith, take Ms. Summers to Interrogation 2," Kate said before grabbing Castle by his ear and tugging until they reached the break room. Castle's over-exaggerated howl of pain went largely ignored throughout the bullpen, though a couple uniforms in the corner snickered and laughed. By the time they entered the break room, Kate let go of his ear and shut the door.

"You know," Castle said with a cringe, rubbing his ear, "if you're gonna keep doing that, you should know that my safe word is 'apples'."

"Go home, Rick."

"What?" Castle frowned. "Why?"

"You know who Ms. Summers is, which means you probably know that if she's in New York, then something big is about to go down." Kate closed the distance between the two of them, her expression softening. "I can't let you in on this. It's too dangerous."

"I appreciate your concern—"

"_No_, Rick." Kate shook her head and grabbed the lapels of Castle's blazer. "Following me on police business is dangerous enough. I'm not gonna be the one to tell Alexis that she lost her father because some minion of Hell got him."

Castle took a step closer, cocking his head to the side. "You care about me."

"Castle, _not now_…"

"No, you're right." Castle shook his head. "I don't like it, but you're right. So I'll go. But if you need anything, you call me. Even if it's just to talk."

* * *

_Interrogation Two…_

"You look good, B."

"Look, Faith, no offense," Buffy shook her head, "but I'm not really here for a social visit."

"Didn't think you were," Faith shrugged.

Though the pair had called a truce years ago, particularly when they fought The First and helped closed the Sunnydale Hellmouth – which had the little side effect of leveling the entire town – there was still an underlying tension. Faith's murderous past, as well as her personal vendetta against Buffy, was still a sore spot between them, even if they didn't actually give voice to their thoughts.

So the pair sat in awkward silence in the middle of one of the Twelfth Precinct's interrogation rooms – known by many in the bullpen as _The Box_. A harsh fluorescent light flickered on the ceiling, and Faith stared at the microphone that poked out of the center of the table.

"That's quite the theory you've got," Buffy finally broke the silence.

"Yeah, well…I hope I'm wrong."

The door opened, and Kate Beckett walked through before kicking the door shut with her black heels. She paced around the table, taking a few moments to compose herself before reaching over and disconnecting the mic.

This definitely wasn't going to be her usual interrogation.

"Four nights ago," she began, "Faith found the body of Officer Allison Hastings in an alley off of 53rd. Chest sliced open, sternum snapped in two, heart missing. Faith fought briefly with the attacker, before noticing that she was going up against a human."

"Senator Bracken," Buffy said with a nod. "And Faith thinks he's getting the ball rolling on Ascension."

"Crazy as it sounds," Kate leaned against the wall near the two-way mirror, folding her arms over her chest, "at this point, I don't have a better theory. Then, this morning we found the body of a Marc Velaqzuez, and it's pretty clear his death was less than normal."

Buffy frowned. "Any connection to Bracken or Officer Hastings?"

"No." Kate shook her head. "Right now, all we've got on Velazquez was how he died. Railroad spike through his head."

Buffy sat up a little straighter. "What?"

The blonde pushed herself out of her chair, hands wringing together as she began pacing back and forth in front of the table. She ignored the curious side glance exchanged between Kate and Faith, shaking her head and chewing on her lip.

"B, what's up?" Faith shook her head. "What's got you all wigged?"

"You mean you don't know?"

Kate frowned and approached the interrogation table. "Know what?"

"That's how Spike got his name." Buffy sighed, her voice shaky with the admission. "When he ran with Angelus, Darla, and Drusilla. The railroad spike was his favorite technique."

"Wait a sec," Faith stood up as well. "Spike's dead. _Again_."

Kate pushed herself off the wall, running her fingers through her short, red-dyed locks. "Okay, wait, slow down. Who's Spike?"

Faith glanced over her shoulder. "What, Angel hasn't told you?"

Buffy's frown deepened. "You know Angel?"

* * *

_Midtown…_

Even as she lapped at her half-vanilla/half-chocolate ice cream cone, Alexis Castle couldn't help but study her father; specifically, the way his eyes weren't quite as bright as usual and the fact that he'd barely touched his own cone in the twenty minutes since paying for them.

Coming out for a father-daughter date night had been his idea, coming home from the precinct far earlier than she had expected. Something was clearly bothering him, but Castle had shrugged off all of Alexis' attempts to find out what, choosing instead to placate her with an evening of food and time away from Martha and her new beau Chet.

But his mood was souring again, and Alexis wasn't having it.

"Dad," she said with a tug of his hand. "Hey, Dad…what's up?"

"Nothing, pumpkin," Castle lied with a fake smile before finally giving his ice cream cone some attention. It wasn't that he didn't want to confide in his daughter – he did – but he didn't want her exposed to the world of vampires and monsters. Life with a growing Alexis was scary enough, just thinking about future boyfriends and a potential rebel phase; he didn't want to worry about the proverbial boogeyman getting her too.

Besides, if Kate wouldn't let him be a part of whatever was going on, chances were she didn't want him to talking to other people about it. Not that he always did whatever the detective told him, but something told him that this time, listening was probably the way to go.

"It's Detective Beckett, isn't it?"

Castle frowned at his daughter, who smirked and shrugged her shoulders. "You're really transparent when it comes to her. It's almost like you've got a crush on her or something."

Alexis wasn't wrong. Though Castle was almost certain she didn't feel the same way – and even if she did, Kate Beckett had made it abundantly clear that her job as a homicide cop and her calling as a Slayer took precedence over everything else. Kate was destined to be the tragic hero, forever sacrificing her own personal happiness in order to fight the good fight.

It was noble, worthy of the character he was basing on her, but Castle felt sorry for her – and for anyone in the past, present, or future who might develop feelings for her. Because they would always come in second.

"She's extraordinary," he said with a faraway look in his eyes.

"And what about the other girl?" Alexis asked with a quirk of her brow. "The dark-haired one with the tattoo?"

"Faith is…" There was that sideways grin again. "I'm not sure."

"She's not another Page Six conquest, is she?" Alexis scrunched her brow in disgust before taking a bite out of her cone. "I thought you were over that."

"I am," Castle said with a little vehemence than he intended. "She's…fun. Uncomplicated. I think I need a little of that right now."

"Then how come you're not basing a character on _her_?"

Before Castle could answer, he was interrupted the sound of something crashing into one of the nearby trash cans. The sidewalk was relatively quiet at this hour – after the dinner rush but before the night crowd – so there weren't many people noticing the man in the black leather trench coat kicking over the can.

"Bloody hell!"

Alexis and Castle both smirked as the writer shook his head. "Wonder what Billy Idol's problem is."

"You mean other than that hair?" Alexis covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "What color do you think that is, radioactive?"

The man in the coat got back to his feet, twirling around in the direction of a nearby alley. When he did, Castle stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide when he saw feral yellow eyes and harsh ridges in his forehead. The writer fished out his phone and managed to snap a picture before the man bolted into the alley.

"Whoa…" Alexis shook her head. "What was that?"

"Must be some movie filming nearby," Castle lied, grabbing Alexis by the wrist and leading her across the street, oblivious to the taxi cab that screeched to a halt and blasted its horn at him. Castle glanced over his shoulder once they reached the other sidewalk, exhaling in relief when he no longer saw the man in the coat.

"Dad, what the heck?" Alexis tugged herself free from her father before casting a glance of her own at the other side of the street they had just crossed. "That…that wasn't just some actor in makeup, was it?"

Castle sighed and shook his head, mostly in resignation.

"Let's go home, pumpkin. Then I'll tell you the story of how I really met Detective Beckett."


	17. Chapter 17: No One Tells Me Anything

_**Author's Note: Starting to think I need a flow chart with everything that's going on. And if it feels like this chapter ends weird, trust me, I have a plan. Reviews are appreciated!**_

* * *

Lindsey McDonald glared at Assistant District Attorney Glenn Forsythe as he shrugged his shoulders, told the court that his line of questioning was over, and returned to his seat. Without even waiting for Judge Markway to offer him the chance to cross-examine, Lindsey rose from his chair, straightened out his tie, and grabbed his leather-bound notepad.

As he approached the witness' bench, Lindsey couldn't help but smirk at the stink eye Detective Kate Beckett was giving him. This was far from the first time they'd clashed in a court room, and even though Lindsey wound up on the losing end of these matches more often than not, he still relished the challenge.

"So it's your professional opinion that Max Heller did not, in fact, commit suicide," Lindsey stated with an arched brow.

"No, it is not my _professional opinion_," Kate argued, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Those were the findings of Dr. Parish when she performed the autopsy on Mr. Heller."

"I see." Lindsey nodded once. "And how did Dr. Parish reach this conclusion?"

"An abrasion on Mr. Heller's index finger indicates that someone made him pull the trigger. Also, his BAC level of .28 meant that he was likely too intoxicated to have done it himself."

"And why would someone want you to think Mr. Heller committed suicide?"

"To cover up the truth." Kate was borderline incredulous at this point. All of this information was in the official police report, supported by Lanie's autopsy report. Why was Lindsey McDonald going over it all again, as if this were some mock trial in high school and he was a student who couldn't quite grasp the concept of being a defense attorney?

"Is that your theory or the writer's?"

"Objection!"

"Your Honor," Lindsey turned to the bench, "I'm merely establishing that Detective Beckett's case is flawed because instead of relying on her skills as a detective, she's taken to operating on the whims of a civilian consultant with an overactive imagination."

"Objection sustained," Judge Markway ruled. "Argue your case, Mr. McDonald, but I will not have you questioning the integrity of the NYPD in my court room."

Ignoring the judge and clenching his jaw, Lindsey glared at Kate with narrow eyes. She matched his glare with a venom she rarely showed, her arms folded across her chest. "While I appreciate the court's support," she started, "I will let my body of work speak for itself. As for my professional arrangement with Mr. Castle, his assistance is an important part of the work my team does, and rest assured that when he actually makes a claim with some substance behind it, we vet those theories as thoroughly as anything else." Her hazel eyes flicked briefly toward the court stenographer. "No one tell him I said that."

A light laughter filled the courtroom before quieting down, and Lindsey again approached the witness' bench. "Detective Beckett, why is it that you've never had a partner with the NYPD, but you'll enlist the help of an outsider who makes his living by killing people and making up stories?"

"Believe me, it wasn't my call," Kate struck back.

"Yet you've let his…_insight_ affect your investigations." Lindsey shook his head, glancing back to the table where his client and Lilah Morgan sat, smirking when he saw the look on her face. "As I understand it, he's basing a book character on you. Is that correct?"

"Objection!" Forsythe called out. "Relevance?"

"Sustained," Markway agreed. "Mr. McDonald, either get to the point or let the prosecution call its next witness."

"Are you sleeping with Mr. Castle, Detective?"

An audible gasp filled the courtroom as the prosecuting team both bolted to their feet, screaming "Objection!" in unison. Judge Markway banged his gavel against the surface of his bench, trying desperately to restore order, catching Kate's glance and shaking his head. Once the murmur died down, the judge tossed his gavel to the side.

"Mr. McDonald, you are _this close_ to being held in contempt of court!" Markway straightened in his seat. "This line of questioning is over, and the jury is asked to disregard Detective Beckett's cross-examination. I'm calling a 20-minute recess."

* * *

_Outside the courtroom…_

There was a buzz outside the courtroom, thanks to the theatrics that had just taken place. People from the crowd were talking amongst themselves, while reporters on-scene were yammering away on their phones, undoubtedly talking to their editors about the juicy tidbits they'd just been fed.

If Kate was lucky, the editors would decide what just happened was neither newsworthy nor fit to be printed in anything other than a sleazy tabloid.

Nonetheless, she immediately sought out Lindsey McDonald, who was over by the water fountain. His co-council, Lilah Morgan, stood in the corner, pinching the bridge of her nose while tucking her phone to her ear. She wasn't talking, and Kate wondered if she was getting chewed out for her partner's stunt.

Grabbing Lindsey by the collar of his suit, Kate pushed her way into the women's room before tossing the lawyer against the wall. Before he could recover or right himself, Kate grabbed Lindsey by the lapels of his suit and slammed him against the wall again.

"What the fuck?!" he bellowed.

"I could ask you the same thing," Kate growled. "You know how hard I've had to work over the years so I don't have to put up with that sexist crap from the NYPD?"

"Come on, Detective," Lindsey smirked. "You know anything goes in the courtroom."

"Maybe for Wolfram &amp; Hart," she countered. "But here in the real world, I don't get up on that stand expecting to have my character questioned."

"You know me," Lindsey shrugged. "I'll take any advantage I can get."

Kate lunged forward again, pressing her left forearm against Lindsey's neck. His eyes widened when she added pressure, and he reached up in an effort to tug her arm away – only to find that it wouldn't budge. "You wanna pick apart my case? Go right ahead. I welcome the challenge. But you leave Mr. Castle alone."

"Why? What do you care?"

Kate's eyes narrowed, and she added just a little more pressure to Lindsey's neck – enough for his mouth to fly open and a small gasp for air to escape. Removing the arm from his neck, Kate turned to leave before whirling around and socking the lawyer in the stomach with her left fist. He doubled over with a loud grunt before breaking into a coughing fit and dropping to his knees.

"Consider this your warning," she said, turning to leave the bathroom. "Oh, and good luck explaining why you were puking your guts out in the ladies' room."

* * *

_Castle's loft…_

Even as she paced back and forth, her brain almost drowning in all of this new information, Buffy Summers couldn't help but let her eyes wander. Richard Castle's loft was at once impressive and homey, simultaneously grand and intimate. His office alone was impressive, though Buffy wasn't quite sure how bookshelves could double as walls.

She needed more privacy than that.

Castle himself sat at his desk, laptop closed in front of him. The first draft of _Heat Wave_ had been submitted earlier that day, and while he knew Gina was going to pick it apart, he was proud of what he'd written. He hadn't seen himself writing again so soon after killing off Derrick Storm, but meeting Detective Beckett had inspired him in ways he never expected.

His daughter, a redhead named Alexis, sat in one of the plush chairs across from Castle's desk, confusion seemingly permanently etched onto her forehead. Faith Lehane sat in the other chair, the picture of nonchalance as she dug into her nails with the tip of her dagger.

Yet here stood Buffy, the proverbial new girl in town, with a ton of questions.

"Alexis," she started, "are you _sure_ you saw what you saw?"

The teenager nodded, glancing at her father before sitting up straighter. "Platinum blond hair, black leather coat, face all…weird."

Buffy sighed and shook her head before glancing over her shoulder at the lone male in the room. "Do you make a habit of taking your daughter out to search for vampires?"

"We were just out for ice cream," Castle protested. "I wasn't gonna say anything until Billy Idol spilled out onto the sidewalk."

With a sigh, Buffy stood and started pacing again. "This doesn't make any sense."

"C'mon, B," Faith shrugged. "It's not like he'd be the first one to cheat death."

Faith had a point; after all, Buffy had twice kicked the bucket, yet here she stood in the middle of a very nice high-rise loft in the middle of New York City, surrounded by a _New York Times_ bestselling author, his daughter, and another Slayer. To say nothing of her first love, who himself had cheated death on more than one occasion.

Still, given what Buffy knew of the battle with the Black Thorn, she thought Spike had finally given himself up for good this time. His return filled her with so much confusion and apprehension that she didn't quite know how to feel about it.

"But if he's alive again," the blonde offered, "why wouldn't he try to find me?"

"You mean the same way he didn't try to find you the first time he got resurrected?"

Buffy shook her head. "And what about you, Mr. Castle?" She cocked her head to the side. "How did you wind up neck-deep in all of this?"

"You mean other than the fact that I know Rupert Giles?"

"Yeah, other than that," Buffy quirked a brow. "Though you'll need to tell me that story too."

Castle sighed and ran a hand through his hair before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. "I was at a launch party for my last book, _Storm Fall_. I went out back to get away from everyone for a few and call Alexis when I saw this guy attacking a woman. Only it wasn't a guy, it was a vampire – and once he saw me, he wanted nothing to do with her. I would've been a Lunchable that night if it wasn't for Beckett."

"So…what?" Buffy shrugged. "Beckett saved you and then told you everything?"

"All she told me was that she was NYPD," he said. "Which, after what I saw? I knew there was more to it than that. So I called Giles."

Faith smirked. "And like a good little Watcher, G-man made with the speech."

"Let me guess," Buffy shook her head. "_Unto every generation…_"

"Something like that." Castle nodded. "But with one hell of a plot twist, thanks to you."

Again, Buffy shook her head. "Willow deserves the credit."

"It was your idea, B."

"Still." Buffy began pacing again. "Things are bad enough if we're staring at the possibility of another Ascension. And if Spike's back on top of that…Mr. Castle, no offense, but I think you're better off sticking to your book parties and your groupies."

Castle sat back and folded his arms over his chest. "You sound just like Beckett."

Before Buffy could respond, a knock at the door interrupted everyone. The three adults all exchanged a glance before Castle rose from his chair with a shrug. "Excuse me."

Once Castle left the office, Alexis rose from her seat and folded her arms over her chest. "Um…Ms. Summers?"

"Please, call me Buffy."

"Buffy…" Alexis tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "How did you…I mean, when did you realize you were a Slayer?"

"I wasn't that much older than you, actually," Buffy said with a wistful sigh.

* * *

_The front door…_

Castle wasn't sure who he expected to see when he flung open the door to his loft, but he certainly hadn't expected it to be Angel. He blinked when he saw the pale man in the dark overcoat standing in his doorway, cocking his head to the side. In that moment, a random thought popped into Castle's head: if this guy was a vampire, and thus h ad no reflection, how did he get his hair like that?

"Angel," Castle glanced over his shoulder. "What's…"

"Is Beckett here?" Angel asked, glancing over Castle's shoulder. "She's not at the precinct."

"She's not here, either." Castle shook his head. "She was supposed to give testimony in court today, so I stayed here and did some writing."

Angel nodded and tore his eyes from Castle's loft, chewing on his lower lip. Castle narrowed his eyes at the man on the other side of the doorway, cocking a brow.

"Something on your mind?"

Angel shook his head. "Nothing you need to be concerned with."

Castle rolled his eyes and stepped to the side. "Really wish everyone would stop telling me that…Faith?"

By the time Angel lifted his gaze again, he was greeted not just by the sight of Richard Castle in the doorway, but three women. Faith Lehane, a teenage redhead who he figured was probably Castle's daughter, and…

Oh.

_Oh._

Well…shit.

"Um," Angel blinked and swallowed, clearly taken aback. "Buffy. Hi."

Castle himself blinked, before his eyes darted back and forth between the dark-dressed man and the blonde woman whom he had barely known for a day. He also noticed the way they were both looking at each other and was tempted to say something, but when he opened his mouth, he felt the sharp jab of Faith's elbow against his ribs.

Which…_ow_.

"Angel," Buffy said, folding her arms. "I was told you were in town."

Angel nodded. "Makes one of us."

Alexis nudged her father – fortunately, on the other side from where Faith had done the same. "Um…is it just me, or is this really awkward?"

"No," Castle smirked. "Not just you."


	18. Chapter 18: Back to the Basics

_**Author's Note: Hey, two chapters in a week! How about that? Some reviews would be lovely.**_

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

Kate Beckett glanced at the fancy black watch on her left wrist, sighing when she noticed it was 11:45. At night. She'd spent the better part of her afternoon at the precinct, pouring over what few details she had with relation to Marc Velazquez's murder. Other than the murder weapon – which had no prints or other trace evidence – there wasn't much for her to go on.

Kate thought back to her conversation with Buffy Summers the day before, the one where she learned of a vampire named Spike who had once made his name ramming railroad spikes into the heads of his victims. But to hear Buffy tell it, Spike had died – and before that, he had been reformed. A good vampire, so to speak.

Like Angel, only…not.

Truth be told, that tale alone deserved its own white dry-erase board. Only problem was, Kate couldn't prop it up here at the precinct, because then everyone would know her secret. As it was, she was uncomfortable with the fact that three civilians knew it – never mind the fact that two of them were also Slayers themselves.

In a way, Kate thrived on anonymity – a luxury she was no longer going to have with Richard Castle's novel _Heat Wave_ just weeks from publication. Since she was the inspiration behind the main character – she could just drive a stake through his eye for calling her Nikki Heat – Kate fully expected a heap of unwanted publicity coming her way.

As if she didn't get enough grief from other cops. Being a woman in a male-dominated career was already a minefield of sorts, but to be a playboy writer's muse on top of all that? She cringed at the thought of the blowback she would encounter.

"Detective?"

Roy Montgomery's voice broke through Kate's train of thought, and she looked up at him with a frown. "Sir?"

"My office." He had a scowl on his face she had rarely ever seen. "Now."

No sooner did Kate wander into Montgomery's office and shut the door – silently asking herself why he was still here at such a late hour – Roy stood behind his desk and shook his head. "What's this I hear about you assaulting an attorney today?"

Kate sighed and fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Sir…"

"Now, I know Lindsey McDonald can be a Grade-A pain in the ass," Roy said with a smirk, "and frankly, I would've liked a front-row seat, but he's threatening to go to One PP with this."

"Sir, you cannot be serious."

"But he is," Montgomery countered. "Which would reflect poorly not only on you, but on me as well." The captain sank into his leather seat with a sigh, shaking his head and staring out the window. "One PP is on my ass as it is, Beckett."

Kate frowned. "Why?"

"They're questioning my leadership," Montgomery said with a shake of the head. "Allowing an untrained civilian into the precinct, allowing you to occasionally enlist the help of a private eye. The fact that we have the highest closure rate in the city seems to mean nothing to these people."

"They're looking for a reason to get rid of me?"

"More likely it's me they want." Montgomery shook his head. "I hear the whispers. Some call me the Affirmative Action Captain. Have ever since I took over the Twelfth. Seems like people have had it out for me from day one, but now they wanna use Castle's presence as an excuse."

For reasons Kate couldn't quite fathom – or didn't want to – the implication made her shudder. She folded her arms across her chest and approached the captain's desk with a shake of her head. "You gonna throw Castle out, sir?"

Montgomery shrugged. "That's up to you."

Kate blinked. "Sir?"

"You want Castle gone, he's gone."

"But what about the mayor?"

"The mayor doesn't run this ship," Montgomery smirked. "I do. You say the word, he's gone. I've only kept him around this long because I've seen how good he is for you."

Kate blinked.

"You're the best cop I've ever had," he explained, "but until Rick came along, you weren't having any fun. You can act tough and nonchalant all you want, Beckett, but you're smiling more than you ever have, you _love_ that espresso machine in the break room, and your shoulders sag just a little bit more on the days when he doesn't show up."

As much as Kate hated to admit it, Montgomery was right. The nine-year-old on a sugar rush had proven helpful on several occasions, and as she had gotten to know him, she began to peel back the veneer of the debonair playboy and saw a doting father and a man who was far more insecure than he let on.

She also saw someone who enjoyed sticking his nose in places it didn't belong, but even that attribute had its moments.

"That settles it, then," she said with a shrug and a half-smile. "Castle stays."

* * *

_Castle's loft…_

Buffy Summers and Angel were pacing around each other in Richard Castle's office, moonlight pouring in from the full-length mirrors to give the room a certain ambience with which they were both familiar. Buffy eyed the bookshelves surrounding the door to the office because while she was glad the writer offered them his office for privacy, she knew they could still eavesdrop.

Because really, who uses bookshelves for walls?

"You look good."

Buffy's gaze shot from the shelves to the vampire standing across from her, every bit the shadowy brooding figure she remembered. The Slayer supposed, in a way, that would never change.

"So do you," she offered with a terse nod. He really, really did, but Buffy couldn't let herself think that for so many reasons. "So…back to the PI thing, huh?"

"Yeah, you know," Angel shrugged. "Back to the basics, I guess."

Buffy had so many questions she wanted to ask. Why Angel had agreed to take over the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram &amp; Hart in the first place. How was it he had survived the battle with the Black Thorn when seemingly no one else did? How he wound up in New York, and for that matter, his history with Detective Beckett.

To say nothing of the dark-haired Slayer and the mystery writer in the other room.

None of those questions made their way from her brain to her mouth, though – Buffy's brain seldom worked as it should whenever her first love was around. To say nothing of the fact that she was in town because her Watcher dropped the dreaded "A-word" on her. Life had been so much easier in several ways for Buffy since Willow cast the spell that turned all of the world's Potentials into Slayers, but if an Ascension was afoot, she needed to be a part of this, because she was the only Slayer ever to experience one.

"Have you heard about the case Detective Beckett's been working on?" she asked. If nothing else, shop talk was safe.

Angel shook his head. "Been a bit busy working my own case."

Buffy arched a brow, tempted to ask about that, but in light of what information she had, she let it slide. "Guy murdered near train tracks. Railroad spike clear through his head."

Angel's posture stiffened. "Railroad spike."

Buffy pursed her lips. "Mm-_hmm._ Not to mention, Mr. Castle and his daughter both claiming they saw a vampire last night with platinum blond hair and a black leather trench coat."

With a shake of his head, Angel leaned back against Castle's desk. "But…Spike's dead."

"Please," Buffy rolled her eyes, "you and I both know death means nothing."

* * *

_The kitchen…_

Castle joined his daughter and Faith at the island, where the Slayer and the redhead were both eating out of a pint of ice cream. He leaned his elbows on the surface of the island, biting his lower lip and widening his blue eyes as if he were an excited child on the verge of barreling downstairs on Christmas morning.

"So," he offered, grabbing a spoon and helping himself to the ice cream, "what's their story?"

"Oh, we so do not have time for that," Faith quipped between scoops of ice cream, glancing over her shoulder. "You could write a trilogy on their forbidden love."

"Oh, now I _have_ to know," Castle countered.

"Come on, Dad," Alexis blanched, "forbidden love with a vampire? Isn't that a bit…_Twilight_ for you?"

"Well, I haven't seen Angel sparkle yet," Castle said, "so I'm already ahead."

"You know," Faith said, "for a mystery writer, you sure know some interesting people."

Castle only answered with a shrug, his eyes clearly fixated on the door leading into his office. He could tell Buffy and Angel were doing their best to keep their voices down – suddenly realizing what he considered privacy in the loft might not work for them. The writer scooped out another spoonful of mint chocolate chip.

"A Slayer and a vampire with a soul," he mused. "A romance more tragic than anything the Bard could've penned. She's a teenage girl still grappling with the reality that her life is no longer a matter of malls and boys, but instead prophecies and destiny, and he's wandered the earth for centuries, wracked with guilt over all those he has slain.

"They find comfort in each other, the irony not lost on the young Slayer as her fingers trace over the ridges of her undead lover's forehead for the first time. She knows it can't last. She's read the old texts, talking of the vampire's former exploits, and she knows that if people find out about them, they'll take him away from her. Stake him, even."

Alexis and Faith exchanged an amused glance.

"Forbidden as their love is, it works. They team up together to battle the forces of darkness, stealing a glance here, a brush of the fingers there as they had off their weapons. Then, one night, when things seem bleak and hopeless, the skies open up and when they finally look one another in the eye, they realize…it's time."

Alexis arched a brow. "Time for what?"

Castle swallowed his spoonful of ice cream with a cringe. "Uh…for us to fast-forward to the next morning, when the Slayer awakes only to find her lover nowhere to be found. Her youth, her naiveté, leads her to think nothing of it…at first. But as the minutes pass to hours, she starts to wonder and worry."

"Alright, Writer Boy," Faith teased as she set down her spoon. "You think you've got this all figured out, what happens next?"

"See, the tragedy of it all is, the vampire with a soul only has a soul because he's being punished. Hundreds of years ago, he killed the wrong people, people steeped in centuries of magicks and the occult. So they curse him, force him to live out the rest of his nights with the terror and the guilt over all that he had done. But the curse had a loophole: if ever his suffering is alleviated, if ever he finds happiness, the soul goes away and the monster is re-born."

Alexis smirked as Faith arched a brow. "So…what? They sleep together and he goes evil again?"

Castle shrugged. "That's how I'd write it. A perfect metaphor for the plight of teenage dating."

* * *

_Midtown…_

Kate Beckett wasn't about to drive home for the night, even though walking would take her almost an hour. She had slacked on her patrolling in recent days, because the workload of her cases and upcoming court appearances had sapped whatever energy she had. It wasn't so bad on days when her writer was there to supply her caffeine fix, but when he wasn't, she increasingly found herself going without.

She kept telling herself it was because she hadn't yet figured out how to work that espresso machine, but the little voice in the back of Kate's head that she hated listening to kept insisting it was something else.

Kate wandered through a series of dark alleys, essentially doing everything people tell women _not_ to do at night. But between her cadge, her service piece, and the stake on the inside her coat pocket – not to mention her supernatural strength and reflexes – Kate was sure she could handle anything that came her way.

The sound of something crashing against a dumpster around the corner caught Kate's attention and she immediately backed herself against the brick wall, one hand on her gun as the other reached into her coat for her stake. A feral growl reached her ears, and Kate leaped around the corner in time to see a figure covered in black leather hunched over a woman. Her head was tossed back, eyes rolled into the back of her head, an arm hanging limply at her side.

"Drop her!" Kate yelled, drawing her stake.

The leather-clad figure did as asked before straightening his posture and turning to face Kate. She swallowed thickly when she saw the platinum blond hair and the harsh ridges on the man's forehead, and her blood ran cold when he sneered and ran the tip of his tongue along his blood-stained fangs.

"Stay right there!"

"Or what, you gonna arrest me?" Spike smirked and put his hands up as he sucked in his cheeks, his eyes focused on the badge still latched onto Kate's belt. "Not sure your cell could hold me, love."

"Got one that'll give you a nice view of the sunrise."

"I bet you do," Spike countered, still holding up his hands as he slowly sauntered toward Kate. "Don't suppose that stake is police-issue, though."

"That's what the gun is for."

"You know that won't kill me."

Kate shrugged. "It'll hurt, though. Sometimes, that's just as good."

"Well, aren't you a saucy one," Spike smirked and slowly circled around Kate, like a predator sizing up its next meal. "I like you. What's your name, pet?"

The swagger was annoying – far more so than anything her shadow ever said or did – and whatever sexiness might have been inherent in the accent was washed away by the disgusting visage, the demonic eyes, and the trail of blood running from the vampire's lips down his chin.

"You talk like this to all the Slayers?" Kate never once moved her eyes off of Spike, tightening her grip on her stake and turning in a circle as he continued to stalk around her.

"Just the ones I plan on killing."

"And how's that working out for you?" Kate asked, catching movement out of the corner of her eye. The woman wasn't dead after all; she was actually just now staggering back to her feet, and Kate hoped to keep the vampire busy long enough that the woman could get away.

"Bagged two in my day," Spike said with a shrug. "I don't like to brag, but…" His face morphed into a huge grin, made all the more monstrous by the ridges on his forehead. "Oh, who am I kidding? I _love_ to brag!"

"Why am I not surprised?"

Kate decided then to make her move, lunging toward Spike before he could react, tackling him to the pavement and clamping her thighs on either side of his hips. When she brought her stake up over her head, the vampire burst into laughter.

"Someone's eager," he quipped with an arched brow. "In more ways than one."

Spike pushed himself off the ground, sending Kate staggering back and fighting to regain her footing. By the time she did, Spike was on her again, pushing her back against the wall so hard that she lost her grip on her stake. Spike chuckled when the wood clanked against the pavement, his face hovering so close to Kate's that she could smell the stench of death.

Fighting the urge to gag, she never once broke eye contact.

"Not yet, love," Spike whispered, running a finger along Kate's jaw. "But soon."

"What, you think I'm just gonna let you walk outta here so you can terrorize more people?" Kate straightened her posture and set her jaw, drawing her gun and pointing it against Spike's ribcage. "Why would I do that?"

"Cause you're not ready, Detective," Spike snarled. "And I like to play with my food first."

Rolling her eyes – because _god_, that was disgusting – Kate pulled the trigger, pushing herself off the wall when Spike staggered backward, clutching his open palm against the bleeding wound on the right side of his chest. She whirled around and clocked the vampire in the jaw with a roundhouse kick, the tip of her heel cutting a gash into his cheek.

As Spike continued to stagger, Kate leaped into the air and rammed her right elbow into the back of his head. Spike grunted as he hit the ground face-first before rolling onto his back, blood trickling down his nose as his face morphed back into its human form.

"Tell you what, _Spike_," Kate grinned when the vampire glared at her. "Yeah, I know who you are. How about we make a pact: you get the hell out of my city, and I don't jam my pointy wooden stick into your chest."

"Now why would I take that deal, love?"

"Because if you don't, it won't just be me you have to worry about." Kate smirked again when Spike arched a brow, lifting himself onto his elbows with a cringe. "Oh, you haven't heard? I'm not the only Slayer in town."

"Yeah, you and Faith."

"Oh, no…" Kate rolled her eyes and got down on her knees, her face inches from his. "There's three of us now, and trust me when I say Faith and I are the least of your worries."

Before Spike could respond, Kate grabbed her stake again and slammed into his chest, just below where his shriveled-up heart was, and he gasped when he felt the sharp wood pierce him in the chest and then again in the back. The stake was large enough that it dug into the ground, effectively pinning the vampire to the pavement.

Kate stood straight again, holstering her gun and wiping her hands off. "You've got some time to think it over," he said before turning to leave the alley. "But not too much. Sunrise is in about six hours."


	19. Chapter 19: Grudges

**_Author's Note: Please, y'all, if you're reading this story and you're enjoying it, please let me know by leaving a review. This is a blast to write, and I'm having so much fun trying to merge both of these worlds together._**

* * *

"Oh, _bloody hell!_"

Spike howled in pain when the stake pinning him to the pavement was extracted from his chest, and the vampire rolled onto his side as his hands clutched the wound. In a lot of ways, being staked like that was worse, and the bullet hole in his side wasn't helping matters. Sure, it was healing, but it still hurt like hell.

With a glance skyward, Spike rolled his eyes and sucked in his cheeks. William Bracken was examining the stake, pulling a white handkerchief out of his suit and wiping the blood off of the weapon.

By the time Spike got back to his feet, Bracken pocketed the stake.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?' The Senator quipped.

"Leave my mum out of this, mate." Spike sucked in a ragged breath he didn't really need, his hand now on his side to cover the bullet hole. Blood trickled onto his fingers, and under different circumstances, it was a sensation he would relish. "Who _was_ that bint?"

"That was Kate Beckett," Bracken explained. "Homicide detective, vampire slayer, all-around potential pain in my ass."

"And why's that?" Spike managed to fish a cigarette from the mashed-up pack in his coat, removing his hand from the still-healing bullet wound so he could light it. His lighter flipped closed and the vampire took a long drag. "What, you cut the NYPD's budget or something?"

"I've spent the last seventy years preparing for my Ascension," Bracken said, pacing around Spike and unbuttoning the jacket of his suit. His tie was still done up in a perfect knot and the American flag pin was still on full display. "Every milestone, every ritual…without fail, I have done what was needed to be done."

Spike glanced over his shoulder before shrugging. "Get to the point."

"If Detective Beckett were to learn the truth about me…well, let's just say she might hold a grudge."

"So it'd be personal." The vampire smirked and shook his head. "I like personal. But why not just kill her, mate?"

"That's where you come in." Bracken approached Spike and placed a hand on the vampire's shoulder, flashing the best camera-ready smile he had. "I've racked up enough of a body count in my time. Besides, I made a deal."

Spike quirked a brow. "A deal."

"She doesn't come after me, I don't go after her." Bracken shrugged. "But there's nothing in that deal saying someone else can't do it."

"I like her," Spike decided. "Just the right combination of strong and damaged. I'll do her for you, Bracken. And the only thing I want in return is the story."

Bracken arched a brow. "The story."

"Yeah." Spike puffed on what was left of his cigarette before flicking the spent butt to the side. The bullet hole was almost completely healed up by now, and the vampire had an easier time moving as a result. "I wanna know what you did that turned that girl into a crusader."

* * *

_January 9, 1999…_

Johanna Beckett had heard all of the stories, knew all of the reasons one should never wander alone in an alley at night. But she was already running late; she was supposed to meet her husband and daughter for dinner almost an hour and a half ago. It was a dinner she'd been looking forward to all week, their last get-together as a family before Katie had to return to California to start her spring semester at Stanford.

Johanna still couldn't get over the fact that her only daughter had decided to move cross-country to go to college. Not that Stanford was a terrible choice for someone who had aspirations of going to law school, but the fact that it was so far away from the family's native New York was still unsettling to her.

Walking as quickly as her heels would allow, Johanna went to fish her cell phone out of her purse. It was a clunky thing that she hated to use, but it was issued to her by the firm and she found it helpful when she was running late.

Like now.

Her meeting with Detective Montgomery had gone longer than she had hoped; the original plan had been to drop off evidence she had acquired on behalf of her client, a mafia enforcer named Joe Pulgatti who she believed had been wrongly accused of killing an undercover federal agent. But as soon as she saw the picture of Montgomery's wife and young daughter on his desk, they got to talking and now she was likely on her way to see an annoyed daughter and a frustrated husband.

Johanna cursed under her breath when the phone slipped out of her hand and broke upon hitting the damp pavement. She dropped to a knee to pick up the device, shaking her head when she saw that part of the casing had broken off. Yeah, that was definitely coming out of her next paycheck. Good thing Katie was on scholarship.

By the time she gathered the remnants of her phone and placed them in her purse, cursing the fact that she could no longer call Jim ahead of time to tell him she was on her way, Johanna heard footsteps behind her. She stopped in her tracks, turning to glance over her shoulder in time to see a man three inches or so shorter than her, wearing all black and approaching with a knife in his hand.

More than that, though, Johanna saw his face. The harsh ridges on his forehead, the yellow eyes that were like staring at a wild animal, the way the man snarled and revealed a pair of fangs. Johanna clutched her bag to her chest, taking several steps backward.

"Drop the bag," the man snarled, and as he closed the distance, Johanna caught one of the foulest smells she had ever experienced. It made her gag, and she wound up dropping the bag as she reached up to cover her mouth and nose.

Johanna had expected her attacker to go straight for the bag, so she couldn't react when he closed the distance between them – far quicker than she anticipated – wrapping a hand around her neck and pushing her up against the wall. Johanna opened her mouth to scream, but the burning pain of the blade twisting into her gut rendered her stunned into silence.

The blade withdrew, and Johanna gasped in terror as her body slumped down along the wall. She wound up curled up against a pile of garbage, unable to do anything as the knife pierced her back once, and then twice, and then a third time. Each stab was precise and swift, and were it not for the pain of the original wound overwhelming her system, Johanna probably would've felt all of the others.

But even that pain didn't last – because by the time the blade dug into the side of her neck, Johanna was dead. Her eyes were frozen wide and in fear, her body limp resting against the trash and the brick wall.

The monster pulled the knife out of Johanna's neck with a snarl, examining the blood coating the blade before bringing the weapon to his nose. A low growl escaped his throat when he caught a whiff of Johanna's blood, and then the vampire ran his tongue along the blade. Once the taste registered, though, the vampire glared at the dead woman at his feet, cocking his head to the side.

Only when he heard sirens in the distance did the vampire turn to leave the alley.

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

"So," Buffy Summers said as she followed Detective Beckett into the break room and watched her pour herself a mug of something; the cop called it coffee, but Buffy wasn't convinced. "You and Angel."

Kate shrugged. "Not lately."

"He didn't go evil on you, did he?"

Kate huffed a laugh and ducked her head, brushing her fingers over her short, red-tinged locks. "No, we, uh…it's complicated."

Buffy arched a brow. "Did you stab him with a sword and send him to a hell dimension?"

Kate frowned and blinked in confusion, taking a sip. "Um…no?"

"Then it's not as complicated as me and him."

Part of Kate wanted that story. The rest of her was content in the bliss of ignorance. Angel hadn't given her much in the way of details when it came to Buffy, but he'd talked about her often enough – and the look in his eyes whenever he said her name – that Kate knew she was beyond important to him in some way.

She also had a fairly decent idea of just how horribly wrong they'd gone. Between Buffy and Cordelia, Angel was the poster child for love tragically gone wrong. By comparison, her fallout with the vampire was nothing.

"We were really good for a while," Kate admitted with a shrug. "He can brood and mope all he wants, but Angel can be really sweet and really sensitive. But it just…he has a hard time letting things go."

Buffy scoffed with a smirk. "Tell me about it."

"You walk in his office, and there's this giant picture of a woman behind his desk," Kate shook her head. "I mean, I get it, Cordelia was important to him and what happened to her was terrible, but that's just…awkward. And that's not even the worst part."

* * *

_One year ago…_

Sneaking into Angel's office wasn't anything new for Kate; she often did it whenever she had a late night at the precinct and didn't feel like going all the way back to her apartment. Not that she'd sleep no matter where she was, but at least swinging by Angel's office – and his underground apartment – afforded her company outside of unfunny late-night hosts and infomercials.

Even though they had broken up, it was an amicable split – by far the most amicable she'd ever had. They were still able to consult with each other on cases, he was still able to help her cope with being a Slayer, and overall they still got along.

Angel's office was empty, which Kate had expected. There was a mechanical lift on the far left side of his office that would take her down to his apartment, a place that was as cozy as an underground living space with medieval weaponry hanging from the walls could be.

Turning in that direction, and letting herself steal a glance at the photographs on the wall that chronicled Angel's life in Los Angeles, Kate stopped when something to her right caught her eye. She glanced at the flatscreen monitor in the corner, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the screen was on.

In the center of the screen was a head shot of her late mother. Other images surrounded that picture: crime scene photos, head shots of other people potentially involved in the case. Kate shook as she stepped closer to the monitor, her jaw clenching. She felt the anger rising like bile in her throat, her hands curling into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms.

Laid out in front of her was everything they had on the murder of Johanna Beckett.

The sound of footsteps behind her drew Kate's attention, and on instinct her hand rested on her gun. The steps grew louder, and the detective made sure to unclench her jaw, even as her nerves were on fire. The creak of a door was the final straw, and Kate whirled around on the balls of her feet, drawing her weapon and cradling it in both hands.

"NYPD, put your hands in the—" Kate's eyes widened when she saw Angel standing in front of her, hands raised to his head. The shock eventually wore off, only to be replaced with the anger that had been bubbling up since she found the monitor, and Kate kept her weapon trained on the vampire.

"Kate," Angel said with a smirk. "You can, uh, you can put that away now."

"What's this?" she asked, keeping the weapon steady in her grasp. She realized how ridiculous it was to be holding Angel at gunpoint, but it was more easily accessible than her stake and frankly, her police training was second-nature. Slayer training was still somewhat a work in progress.

"What's what?"

The scowl on Kate's face deepened as she nodded in the direction of the monitor. Angel's eyes followed and then, as if it were possible, his face paled even more. His hands lowered ever so slightly before the vampire took a step forward, a scowl of his own now etched into his forehead. "Kate, I—"

"What did I ask you?" Kate demanded, willing the tears building in her eyes not to fall. "That night we decided it was over, what did I ask you to do?"

Angel opened his mouth, but no words came.

"Answer me!"

Angel sighed and lowered his hands, averting his gaze. "You told me to stop looking into your mother's case."

"So tell me what that's doing on your screen," she ordered, taking a step toward Angel.

Angel didn't have an answer. Well, he did, but there was nothing he could say that would make her calm down. Nor should she; he knew he'd gone against her word and betrayed her trust. And if they weren't already over before this, he was certain they would've been now. He stared at the monitor – anything to keep from looking at the hurt in her eyes or the way the barrel of the gun twitched in her grasp.

Truth be told, Angel knew this day would come. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep this a secret forever; his only hope was that by the time Kate found out he was still investigating, he would be able to lead her to the man responsible.

But he was no closer to that now than he was when they broke up.

"You went behind my back and did the one thing I _specifically_ asked you not to do," Kate shook her head and holstered her gun before turning to the monitor and folding her arms over her chest. "How can I even trust you after this? How do I know anything you say from now on is the truth?"

The words fell out of Angel's mouth before he could stop himself. "Because I love you."

Kate turned around to glance at Angel, her arms still folded over her chest as a crease built onto her forehead. She cocked her head to the side and her eyes narrowed, as if she were mulling over Angel's confession. Then, with another glance back to the monitor, she shook her head.

"No, you don't," she said. "If you did, you would've respected my wishes."

"Kate—"

"No, Angel." Kate pushed her ex-boyfriend aside, making her way toward the door leading into his office. "You don't get to go behind my back and do things pertaining to my life without clearing them with me first."

"But—"

"_My_ life, Angel. _Mine_." Kate grit her teeth and turned the doorknob. "It's not your place, and it's not your call."

Before Angel could say anything, the door to his office slammed shut, leaving him alone. He sighed and chewed on his lower lip, staring at the monitor. All of that information on display, practically taunting him. No new leads in the almost year and a half he had been investigating; in a lot of ways, he was hitting all of the same dead ends the police had.

He kept waiting for that big break, the one discovery that would unravel the entire ball of yarn and lead him directly to those responsible. He had planned to go to Kate with that information once he had it, hoping excitement over the break would outweigh the anger she'd feel over him going behind her back, but as was typical for him, no such luck.

Kate was right, of course. He'd known even as he was digging that he shouldn't have been, and yet Angel couldn't help himself. At least in L.A., whenever he had a bonehead idea like this, Angel had a group of friends who could talk him back from the proverbial ledge. He didn't have that here – a fact of which he was reminded every time he saw that picture of Cordelia behind his desk.

With a sigh, Angel turned off the monitor before summoning the lift again. It whined and groaned as the machine worked its magic, and by the time Angel opened the lift and pushed the button to lower it, he was in full-on brood mode again.

Something told him things with Kate were beyond repair. And yet, he still couldn't help but wonder: who killed Johanna Beckett?


	20. Chapter 20: Ascending

_**Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long! Apparently, publishing my first novel and everything that goes with that left me with little time and energy for fic writing. But the latest chapter is here, and I'll also be updating She's in My Veins again in the next few days. In the meantime, leave a review, check out Aftermath (which I just finished), and give my debut novel BOUNTY a read. Thanks for the love!**_

* * *

_Wolfram &amp; Hart…_

William Bracken couldn't care less that he was holed up in Lilah Morgan's office when he should be in his own office making all the necessary preparations for another election season. While Bracken's ambitions went a little higher than the White House, he would be foolish not to have a backup plan in place.

Insiders told Bracken he was virtually assured the party nomination if he were to run. His personal popularity was at an all-time high, thanks to being a native New Yorker, having a clear track record, and the ability to keep his less savory exploits out of the public eye.

Still, as much as he liked the sound of "President Bracken," the Senator would be a fool if he didn't admit Ascending into the latest physical embodiment of Ky-laag held a certain appeal. Bracken had studied the Old Ones for decades, and while his visit to the Deeper Well bore little fruit, he had not left empty-handed.

So his first choice was unavailable, having already secured its escape from the Deeper Well, only to weed itself into the body of a mortal woman and find itself weakened.

Perhaps Illyria had not been so formidable after all. Just as well.

Bracken stared at the coal gray box on Lilah's desk, in awe as his fingers traced over the edges with reverence. It was the latest step in his Ascension; the contents of this box were to be eaten, ingested from sunset to sunrise. The thought turned his stomach, but the power these beasts held were critical to his gradual transformation.

He could hear them skittering inside the box, their tentacles scraping against the rough edges. They were ornery creatures, and Bracken already knew they would not be pleasant going down. Even less pleasant would be the fusion of his internal organs; Bracken knew he needed to be internally ready for the spirit of Ky-laag to overtake his body, but this was the one ritual, above all others, that he dreaded most.

"Don't suppose there's a bottle of wine to go with this," he quipped.

"Don't look at me," Lilah shook her head and rose from her seat. "Just make sure that box doesn't open in here. There isn't enough Raid in the world to kill those things."

Now on the other side of the desk, Lilah approached Senator Bracken and handed him a stuffed manila folder, a self-satisfied grin on her face. Bracken took the folder with an arched brow, cocking his head to the side.

"What's this?"

"Everything we could find on Joe Pulgatti," Lilah answered with a quirked brow of her own.

"I know about Joe Pulgatti," Bracken countered, thumbing his way through the contents of the folder. "I need to get rid of everything that links me to his lawyer."

"Ah, yes," Lilah nodded. "Johanna Beckett. The Senior Partners remember her quite well, and not at all fondly."

"Pain in my ass, she was," Bracken hissed. "Her daughter's not much better."

"We know of her, too." Lilah ran a hand through her hair. "Lindsey's had the misfortune of representing clients she arrested. Girl's a bitch on the witness stand."

"Everywhere else, too."

"There's another problem," Lilah added, reaching toward her desk for another manila folder, handing it to the Senator as well. "Detective Beckett and Ms. Lehane are no longer the only Slayers in town."

Bracken's brows arched when he opened the folder and saw the name. He smirked and shook his head, tucking both folders under his arm as his fingers once again trailed over the edge of the box. "Well, Spike will love this."

"You sure he'll be up for that?"

"Ms. Morgan, he's just vindictive enough that he'll thrive on it."

* * *

_December 14, 1998…_

As much as Johanna Beckett would have loved to join her husband is bed, considering the clock on her desk was keen on reminding her that it was after two in the morning, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep without pouring over everything in the files spread across her desk. Papers were strewn about everywhere, no order or reason to them. More than once, Johanna had to flip through stack after stack to find the page she was after, pencil clutched in her teeth.

Her landline phone rang, startling Johanna to the point that the pencil fell out of her mouth and the stack of papers she had been thumbing through toppled to the floor. She sighed to gather herself before rolling her eyes – because honestly, who the hell could be calling at this hour?

Johanna grabbed the receiver, hoping the commotion hadn't woken Jim.

"Beckett residence," she answered, trying to keep the annoyance out of her tone.

"_Mrs. Beckett_," an upper-crest British accent greeted on the other end of the line. "_I trust I didn't wake you._"

"No." Johanna pursed her lips. "Though this isn't exactly the best hour for us to be taking calls. Mr. Travers."

"_My apologies_," he replied, but the tone of his voice made it clear that he wasn't actually apologizing. "_I'm afraid there is a matter of some urgency._"

"A matter of some urgency," Johanna repeated with an arched brow. "And yet you decided to call a lawyer in Manhattan rather than your little superhero friends in California. You'll forgive me if I find that a bit… odd."

Johanna hated it whenever Quentin Travers called – not just because he had a habit of calling with bad news or dire predictions, but because he was an all-around jerk. Stuck on his own self-importance, convinced that his Council was the end-all, be-all when it came to keeping the world safe – to say nothing of his rampant sexism, unchecked over decades of self-appointed power.

Of all the people who could be in charge of the Council of Watchers, Johanna couldn't think of a worse candidate than Quentin Travers.

"_We fear there is an Ascension brewing_," Travers said.

"Yeah, I've heard the rumblings underground," Johanna answered with a shrug. "But seeing as how I'm in New York, and this is about some small-town California mayor, I don't see what you want me to do about it."

"_I'm not talking about Mayor Wilkins, Mrs. Beckett. I'm afraid there's another threat, one right in your own back yard._"

"Then why not put your Slayer on a plane to New York and let her handle it?"

"_I would if I could_," Travers said with a growl in his voice. "_But she has enough to deal with between her own Ascension and her senior year of high school. What on Earth she needs an education for, I'll never know, but Mr. Giles is insistent – even after his termination._"

"Right." Johanna rolled her eyes. "How dare Rupert treat his Slayer like a person?"

Travers ignored the dig, much to Johanna's consternation. "_We have reason to believe someone in New York – someone in an influential position – is working toward Ascension. And we believe we know who it is._"

Again, Johanna rolled her eyes. "And?"

"_William Bracken._"

Johanna sat up straighter in her chair, her free hand tangling itself in the cord between the receiver and the telephone console. "You mean the Assistant DA? No." She shook her head. "No, can't be. Look, Bracken's a giant pain in the ass, but come on, giant demon?"

Never mind the fact that Bracken was apparently becoming a focal point in her current investigation. Mob enforcer Joe Pulgatti had hired her to prove his innocence in the murder of an undercover FBI agent named Bob Armen. The police report pinned Pulgatti at the scene of the murder, but Pulgatti claimed he was being abducted by a trio of people who had been kidnapping mobsters and holding them for ransom.

Pulgatti's assertion was that the only way for the police to know he was in that alley the night Bob Armen was killed was if the kidnappers were themselves cops. Johanna agreed with the reasoning, but poring through NYPD case files had gotten her nowhere – as had attempts to contact John Raglan and Gary McCallister, the apparent investigating officers.

But a private investigator she had hired last week was already paying dividends, pointing her in the direction of the Assistant DA. The man who simply went by the name Smith was following a money trail, using methods and contacts Johanna had no hope of ever having herself. Normally, she wouldn't stoop to such measures, but if it meant proving Pulgatti's innocence…

"_I know how it sounds_," Travers admitted. "_We verified this intelligence as best we could, and we believe Mr. Bracken is in the middle of the process of Ascending. If our intel in correct, he's potentially two decades shy of becoming an Old One._"

"Fine." Johanna pinched the bridge of her nose. "Say all of this is true. What exactly am _I_ supposed to do about it? Are you forgetting the part where I'm a lawyer, not a Slayer? Hell, I'm not even a Watcher."

"_Our intelligence also uncovered information relevant to your case._"

Johanna frowned. "The Pulgatti case?"

"_Indeed._" The sound of a chair shifting filled the line, as if Travers either swiveled in his chair or reached onto his desk to grab something. "_We have reason to believe Mr. Bracken is covering up for those men who have been kidnapping mobsters._"

"And why would he do that?"

"_They're paying him a cut of each ransom_," Travers explained. "_These men are literally buying Bracken's silence._"

"You wouldn't happen to know who these men are."

"_We know two of them_," Travers said with a sigh. "_John Raglan and Gary McCallister._"

So Pulgatti's claim checked out – assuming, of course, that what Travers was telling her was true. Not that she had reason to believe it wasn't; Quentin Travers was many things, but a liar wasn't one of them. And if the rest of his Watchers were as intelligent and thorough as Rupert Giles…

"What, nothing on the third man?" Johanna asked.

"_Not as of yet. But we're still working on it._"

"You do realize that if you're right," Johanna countered, "you're gonna need some firepower in New York. But seeing as how both your Slayers are in Sunnydale…"

"_We're aware of that_," Travers said. "_Contingencies are in place._"

"Those contingencies better not include my daughter," Johanna warned.

"_Mrs. Beckett_," Travers sighed, "_Katherine has tremendous potential. She would make a fine Slayer._"

"Yeah, well… last I checked, your Slayers are still alive," the lawyer sank back in her chair, shaking her head. "Besides, we had a deal. Remember? The only reason I put up with your sexist ass is to make sure my Katie stays as far away from this as possible."

"_That's a shame, too_," Travers argued. "_That girl is something special_."

"Yes, she is," Johanna said through gritted teeth. "Which is why I'm doing everything I can to make sure she makes it to adulthood. My girl won't make it to the Supreme Court if I let you throw her into the fire."

The sigh on the other end told Johanna that Travers was tired of this conversation. So was she, because every time Quentin called, their talks inevitably wound up circling back to her daughter. It had been this way since Kate turned 13 and the Council first approached them about training her as a Potential. Both Johanna and Jim had refused, and their stances had not changed in the years since.

Kate now being an adult and studying at Stanford did little to change their opinion.

"_Take down Bracken_," Travers warned. "_He can't Ascend if he's behind bars._"

* * *

_Present day…_

Kate Beckett shook her head. "Why do I feel like I've stepped into some turgid supernatural soap opera?"

"Maybe because you have?" Castle shrugged. "Nice use of 'turgid,' by the way."

A smirk crept onto Kate's face and she leaned against one of the bookshelves that separated Castle's office from the rest of the loft. "You like that, Castle? You like it when I use big words?"

The writer's eyebrows arched and a knowing grin tugged at his mouth. "I do."

"Hm." Kate pushed herself off the wall, approaching Castle's desk before resting her open palms on the smooth wooden surface. "You should hear me say 'salacious'."

Castle leaned in. "I believe I just did."

Even as Kate rolled her eyes, the grin never left her face. She pushed off of Castle's desk before wandering across to the other side, leaning against the surface and folding her arms over her chest. Her father's watch was large on her wrist, and the ring she wore around her neck was visible under the white button-down – the top two buttons undone.

She stood in silence for a few moments, chewing on her lower lip. Castle, to his credit, was silent along with her, lost in thought as he swiveled his chair back and forth. When he looked up at Kate, his blue eyes were darker than usual.

"Is this as bad as I think?" he asked.

Kate released a breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding, shaking her head. "I really wanna say no," she admitted. "But the look on Faith's face the first time she mentioned Ascension…"

"And the fact that Ms. Summers is here," Castle added.

"Yeah." Kate ducked her head and brushed the hair out of her face. It was starting to get a little longer, still not quite shoulder-length and starting to curl out on the ends. There was a hint of red to it, and frankly, she thought it was a cute look. "I don't know if we can win this, Castle."

"Buffy stopped an Ascension once before," Castle offered, sitting up. "Right?"

"If by stopping it, you mean she destroyed an entire high school _after_ Mayor Wilkins' transformation was complete," Kate countered. "Our best bet is to somehow take out Bracken before he has a chance to actually Ascend."

"And how do we do that?" Castle asked. "You can't just kill a guy."

"And what about this… Spike?" Kate shook her head. "The last thing I need right now is a self-important pretty boy following me around all the time. Present company excluded, of course."

"I choose to ignore that," Castle quipped.

"This is why I didn't want you following me around," Kate said, ducking her head.

"You mean it's not because you thought I was a 9-year-old on a sugar rush?"

"Okay, that too." Kate shook her head. "But… Rick, this is serious. This isn't slip on a bulletproof vest and hope I don't get shot in the field. I'm barely equipped to handle this, and I have superpowers. You have a daughter and a mother."

"Kate," Castle said, "I appreciate that you're worried about me. Really. And yeah, this is scary. I signed up for drug dealers and serial killers and jilted lovers, not vampires and end-of-the-world prophecies. But what kind of partner would I be if I didn't have your back, no matter what?"

Kate looked up at Castle, her brow furrowed. She unfolded her arms and gripped the edge of the desk. Chewing on her lip, she shook her head. "Is that what we are? Partners?"

Castle shrugged. "I mean, we're not Ryan and Esposito, but…"

Kate smirked. "I thought you were my plucky sidekick."

"Plucky sidekick always gets killed," Castle said with a dismissive wave. "You can't get rid of me that easily, Beckett."

Truth be told, Kate didn't want to be rid of him. His presence was once a burden to her, but the fact was that Castle had proven helpful on occasion – and the fact that he was steadfast in her corner with everything going down like this meant something to her. Not that her boys at the precinct weren't the same way – they were – but they didn't know Kate like Castle did.

He had seen the darkest her life had to offer, he knew how dangerous her life was – as both a cop and a Slayer – and he still showed up every day, two cups of coffee in-hand. Castle consulted with her on cases official and otherwise, and with her social circles suddenly full of mopey vampires and demon killers, it was nice having a regular human on whom to lean.

"You're right, you know," she said, her left hand reaching for his. "But I need you to promise me something."

Castle nodded.

"When this goes down, _for real_," Kate arched her brows, studying Castle's face, "you can't follow. Okay? It's one thing if I go down. That's the nature of being a Slayer. But I will not be the reason Alexis loses her father or Martha her son."

Castle opened his mouth to protest, but closed it when he saw the look in Kate's hazel eyes. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. He understood with perfect clarity what Kate was saying, and logically, he understood and even agreed with her reasoning. But he hated the thought of her going into battle – _any_ battle – without him by her side.

"Okay," he relented with a sigh. "I promise."

A soft smile crossed Kate's face – and oh, what a sight _that_ was – and she gave Castle's hand a light squeeze. She again ducked her head and brushed aside locks of hair, and if Castle didn't know any better, he could swear she was blushing.

"It's not so bad," he added, trying to convince himself as much as anything. "You've got two other Slayers on your side, and then there's Angel."

Kate shook her head. "I wouldn't rely on Angel."

Castle rose an eyebrow. "Why?"

Kate shook her head again, releasing her grip on Castle's hand. "It's… complicated."

"Always seems to be with him."

Kate smirked and shook her head. "You have no idea."


	21. Chapter 21: Reflecting

_**Author's Note: So, so sorry about the delay between posts... I'll get back in the fanfic groove soon, I promise.**_

_**But hey, this chapter was a lot of fun to write. Hope you enjoy reading it. Reviews are lovely.**_

* * *

_Midtown…_

"Why the long face, B?"

Buffy Summers rolled her eyes; no matter how many years passed, she would never get used to or like the nickname Faith Lehane had given her. Getting the dark-haired Slayer to stop using it was a losing battle, though, so she had long ago given up on it.

Patrolling in New York City was far different than patrolling in Sunnydale. There was more ground to cover, for one thing; Midtown alone was massive enough that one could probably fit three Sunnydales in it. How Sunnydale had once had its own zoo, college campus, and airport was beyond Buffy.

"There's an Ascension brewing," the blonde Slayer said. "That not enough reason to be brooding?"

"No, it is." Faith shrugged. "But I think there's something more."

"What do you want me to say, Faith? That things are awkward with Angel around, especially knowing that he and Detective Beckett had a thing, have a thing, may one day get a thing again? Or how about the fact that Spike's apparently back and has reverted to his less savory strutting-around-like-a-wannabe-badass-and-obsessed-with-Drusilla ways?"

Faith shrugged again. "That's a start."

Buffy sighed and shook her head, crossing 40th Street on her way to Bryant Park. Faith followed in lockstep. "Look, I'm only here cause Giles told me how urgent it was."

"Right, how dare any of us pluck you out of your nice, comfy life?"

Buffy spun on her heel once they crossed the street, closing the distance between herself and Faith with a clenched jaw. "You're right, I_ do_ have a life. A good one. Dawn's just graduated from college and I'm trying to help her find a job… one far away from all this."

"And it just so happens your life has nothing to do with any of us." Faith shook her head. "Tell me somethin', B: when was the last time you saw Willow or Xander?"

Buffy blinked and took a step back. "Willow is in Africa, training Slayers and helping the local magi deal with the Hellmouth in Cairo. Xander's in Moscow training Watchers."

"And when's the last time you called either of them?"

"When did _you_ become Little Miss Social?"

"You're just like Angel," Faith countered. "Look, that spell gave you a choice, I get it. You got a choice no other Slayer's ever had. You could walk away from the demon fighting and no one would blame you. But B… you can't walk away from your life. You can't walk away from the people who matter."

Before Buffy could respond, an ear-piercing scream rang out into the night. Both women burst into a full sprint through the park, leaping over park benches and dodging passersby before they ran into a grove of trees.

Faith jumped off the side of a nearby tree, pulling out her stake before attacking the male figure in a black leather coat that was hunched over a redheaded woman. Her boot slammed into the man's back and he stumbled to the ground, losing his grip on the young woman. Buffy, trailing behind, frowned when the girl came into view.

"Alexis?!"

Alexis Castle gathered her footing, blue eyes impossibly wide as she cupped her palm against the side of her neck. "Buffy!"

"Marvelous," a familiar British voice chirped. "We all know each other."

Buffy whirled around in time to see Spike punching Faith in the stomach, the dark-haired Slayer doubling over and dropping to her knees. Buffy's mouth hung open and her blood ran cold, frozen at the sight of Spike in full-on vampire mode with a look in his eye she hadn't seen in years. Even from a distance, Buffy could tell this was not the Spike she had come to know.

"Red here's a bit young for my blood," he teased, closing the distance between himself and Buffy before taking a swing at her. "But if she's a friend of yours… well, that just adds another layer of fun now, dunnit?"

Barely dodging the blow, Buffy punched Spike in the side. When he doubled over, she kneed him in the chin, dropping the vampire to the ground in a heap before pulling the stake out of her back pocket. But Spike rolled out of the way before she could do the deed – mostly because she waited a split-second longer than usual before delivering the blow.

Spike roundhouse kicked Buffy, standing over her when she fell to the ground.

"I was hoping I'd find you," he said, kicking Buffy in the side. "I got some unfinished business, love. Something I shoulda done to you a long time ago."

Faith bum-rushed Spike face-first into the ground before he could kick the blonde Slayer again, straddling him and pounding her fists into the back of his head. She grit her teeth and hit the vampire as hard as she could, unaware of the arm that swung around from the side and clocked her in the side of the head.

The dark-haired Slayer rolled onto the ground and sprung back to her feet before Spike was on her, slapping the stake out of her hand before wrapping his hand around her neck. His face hovering inches from hers, Spike bore his fangs.

"You used to be fun," he snarled.

"You could use a Tic-Tac or 12," Faith teased.

Spike growled and tightened his grip on Faith's neck, pulling her body flush against his and smiling at the gasp that escaped from the back of her throat. "Red was too sweet for me," he hissed. "I think you're more up my alley."

Before Spike could close in for the bite, something heavy slammed into the back of his head. He released his grip on Faith, hunching his shoulders and ducking for cover as whatever it was that hit him kept whaling on him. Spike barely caught a glimpse over his shoulder, seeing an older redhead swinging her vibrant, multi-colored purse at him. It felt like there were at least three bricks inside, and Spike was blinded not just by the purse, but by the older woman's matching outfit.

"Hands off, Billy Idol!" the woman yelled out, swinging the massive bag with both hands. Spike turned just in time for the bag to hit him in the chin, sending him onto his back with a cut on his chin. By the time Spike slammed into the dirt, his face had returned to its human visage, and he scrambled to his feet.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled before disappearing into the night.

Hoisting the bag over her shoulder again, the older redhead joined Faith in helping Buffy back up to her feet. "Are you ladies alright?"

"Five by five," Faith said between gulps of breath. "Nice swinging."

Martha Rodgers gave a dismissive wave of her hand, which was covered in a wrist-length purple glove. "And they say a life of theatre never gets you anywhere. In 1991, I was cast in a stage production of _A Streetcar Named Desire_, and I got a lot of practice swinging heavy things at people."

Buffy cringed and rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. "I don't remember that play being so violent."

"Oh, it wasn't." Martha gave a tight-lipped smile. "The director was a bit handsy with the cast."

"You alright, Gram?"

Martha's smile turned warm and she brushed hair out of Alexis' face. "Of course, darling. I should be asking you that. You're the one that hooligan went after."

"I'm fine," Alexis said, checking the hand that had been on her neck to make sure. There was no blood. She could have sworn she felt his fangs against her skin, but clearly, they hadn't punctured her skin. "Thanks to Buffy and Faith."

Martha's eyebrows shot upward. "Oh, you know these two."

"We're friends with Detective Beckett," Faith explained.

"Ah." Martha gave a nod. "I take it that means you know my son, too."

A knowing smile crept onto Faith's face as she straightened her posture and cracked her knuckles. "Oh yeah, I'm familiar."

* * *

_Castle's loft…_

"So what's it like?" Castle asked, closing his laptop and setting it on his desk. "Being a Slayer?"

Kate Beckett pursed her lips as she stared out the window of Castle's office. She had barely been in her own apartment over the last seventy-two hours; when she wasn't at the precinct, she was here at Castle's loft. She couldn't exactly place why, but since Buffy had come to town and they got a sense of just how bad things were, she couldn't bring herself to go back home.

Maybe it was the unsettling reality that she had to somehow bring down a United States Senator before he morphed into some giant hellbeast bent on destroying the world. That was pretty low, even for a politician. Maybe she simply was starting to enjoy Castle's company.

Maybe it was a little of both.

"It's funny," she finally said. "My mother used to tell me, 'Katie, you can be _anything_ you want.' But all I ever wanted was to be her. You know, help people. Make a difference." She shrugged and glanced down at a random spot on the floor.

"But, you are." Castle stood and approached Kate by the window. "You do."

The smile that spread onto Kate's face was sad and didn't quite reach her eyes. She glanced up at Castle and saw something in his eyes that she didn't dare give voice to – not yet – and Kate found herself looking down at the floor again.

"I don't know about that, Castle."

Castle cocked his head to the side. "Do you know why I chose you as the inspiration for Nikki Heat?"

"No." Kate frowned; she still hated that name. "Why?"

"Cause you're tall."

The smile returned, a little brighter this time, and Kate couldn't help but giggle. She shook her head, and it almost didn't register at first when Castle's hand rested on her shoulder. But once it did register, she tensed up for a moment, only relaxing when she saw the calm look in his eyes.

"I never got a choice," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Being a Slayer. I chose to be a cop. But being a Slayer? I had no say. Just woke up one day and there was all this power." Kate shook her head. "It sounds cool, badass chick with superpowers, but… no one ever asked me if I wanted to slay vampires. No one ever asked if I'd be okay with occasionally help stop the end of the world."

"What would you decide?" Castle asked. "If you were given a choice."

"I…" Kate sighed. "I don't know. But you know the worst part? Sometimes, my murder victim was killed by a vampire. So yeah, I can go out there and I can hunt down the bastard and I can put a stake in his chest, but… what about the victim? What do I tell their loved ones?"

Castle blinked. "The truth?"

Kate shook her head. "Not sure how badass Nikki Heat would be in a straitjacket."

"But avenging those deaths has to count for something."

"It does." Kate bit her lip. "But… I know what it's like when the police use the term 'cold case.' I've been there. 'Oh, we've done everything we can, but there just aren't any leads.' I swore when I became a cop that I would never tell a loved one I couldn't solve a murder."

Before Castle could say anything, the sound of the front door slamming shut caught his attention. Before he could get to his office door, though, it swung open and the two Slayers and two redheads burst through.

"We've got a sitch," Buffy said, approaching Kate. "Spike is very much back."

"But we knew that," Kate said. "I distinctly remember fighting him."

"But you didn't have to save Alexis to do it," Faith threw over her shoulder, dropping to her knees in the far corner of the office to root through a small wooden chest that housed several stakes, bottles of holy water, and crosses.

Castle stood up a little straighter, a darkness settling in his eyes as she closed the distance to his daughter and grabbed her wrist. "A vampire attacked you?"

"I'm okay," Alexis promised. "Really. Buffy and Faith swooped in."

Faith grinned, hoisting a crossbow over her shoulder before tossing a stake Buffy's way. "And a nice assist from Gram and her handbag."

Martha beamed with pride and bowed as if she were on stage following a riveting performance.

Castle clenched his jaw and turned his attention from Alexis to Martha. His hands clenched into fists to keep his fingers from shaking, and his skin went pale. "What were two doing out there at this hour?"

"Alexis was helping me at the studio and we ran late." Martha shrugged. "And neither one of us had money for a cab."

Castle reached over and pulled Alexis into a hug that was entirely too tight, his chin resting on the top of her head. Anger coursed through his veins, and he had to loosen his grip on his daughter when she smacked him in the back.

"Next time, Mother, call me and I'll send the car service."

"And deprive myself of a moment in the spotlight?" Martha turned to walk out of her son's office, thrusting her arms in the air. "Ha!"

Finally releasing his daughter, Castle made for the chest in the corner, flinging the top open before reaching down to grab a bottle of holy water, a stake, and a cross with a black string around it. By the time he turned around and put the cross around his neck, Kate was on him, grabbing the cross and yanking it off.

"No, Castle."

"Beckett…" Castle sucked in a deep breath, puffing out his broad chest. "Kate, he attacked my daughter."

"I know, and we will make sure he can't hurt anyone else."

"Yes, _we_."

"That doesn't include you." Kate pressed an open palm against his chest, feeling his thundering heartbeat. She swallowed hard and took a moment to compose herself. "Buffy, Faith, and I will go after him."

Castle tightened his grip on the stake, sucking in a deep breath only to find that it didn't calm him like he had hoped. The other two Slayers were giving him sympathetic looks, which he appreciated, but he feared they would side with Kate on this.

"Beckett…"

"She's right, Ricky," Faith said. "This isn't just some random-ass vamp. Spike's bad news."

"So bad my mother scared him off with a purse."

"Hey now, that thing looked heavy," Faith said with a smirk. "No telling what she keeps in there."

Kate reached down to gently pry the stake out of Castle's hand, slipping it under the hem of her jeans before taking his now-free hand into her own. Castle looked down with a scrunched brow before he met Kate's gaze with a quizzical look.

"Promise me you'll be here when we get back," she said.

Castle opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. He looked over Kate's shoulder at Buffy, watching the way her face fell when she double-checked her own stake. For all the personal history she had with Angel, there appeared to be something there with Spike as well. Part of Castle wanted that story, too, but for right now all he wanted was Spike's ashes fluttering in the breeze.

"Rick." Kate's voice was insistent. "Promise me you'll stay here."

His shoulders slumped and with a sigh, Castle nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I promise."

"Good." Kate reached up and softly kissed Castle's cheek, giving him a small smile and a pat on his chest before turning back to the other two Slayers. "Take me to where you found him. We'll start there and work our way out."

Castle watched the three women, loaded up with all manner of weapons, leave his office. He was still fuming when the front door shut, his hands still curled into tight fists. His heart rate had decreased only slightly, and he still wanted to reach into that chest, pull out a weapon, and make like Van Helsing.

But seeing as how his few violent encounters with humans hadn't ended well, Castle knew the logical thing to do was let the Slayers handle Spike. But he was a father, and someone had attacked his daughter.

Vampire or no, he couldn't let that slide.

Reaching for the phone in his pocket, Castle stared at his office door as he dialed a number and brought the device to his ear. The call connected on the second ring.

"_Angel Investigations, we help the helpless._"

"Angel, Rick Castle. I need some help."


	22. Chapter 22: Ambush

_The Twelfth…_

Spike needed to hit something.

Right now, he wanted nothing more than to sink his fangs into someone's neck, to tear something bit by bit with his bare hands. He needed the cleansing force of ripped flesh and torn muscle, blood vessels slashed open and their contents spilling free. His mind was awash with images and memories he wanted no part of, and the only way Spike knew how to deal was with violence. He needed to make a scene and he needed it to be blood.

Most of all, though, he needed to make a point.

This was not a vampire who took kindly to being hit over the head with a purse. No… William the Bloody was better than that, and he needed to make sure everyone knew it. Buffy was a problem, a unique one, but Spike couldn't help but smile at the thought of the other Slayer – the one who had pinned him in that alley.

She didn't appreciate how serious Spike was. Perhaps she needed a reminder.

Spike supposed that, to some degree, he was still Senator Bracken's pawn. The entire reason Wolfram &amp; Hart resurrected him was so he could play his part in Bracken's Ascension. But Detective Beckett was a thorn in Bracken's side, and as curious as Spike was as to why that was, he was far more intrigued by her.

Then again, Spike's fascination with Slayers was nothing new; he'd been obsessed with them from the first night Angelus had told him about them. He had bagged his first Slayer during the Boxer Rebellion, a Chinese girl who couldn't have been any older than seventeen.

His second kill was far more satisfying, if for no other reason than the fact that Spike took something away from someone. His second Slayer kill was far more than just a Slayer; Nikki Wood had been a mother, and when Spike snapped her neck like a twig, he deprived a 4-year-old boy of a lifetime with his mom.

For all of Spike's mommy issues over the years, that was especially gratifying.

Not that Spike's centuries-long obsession with Slayers had always been a good thing –a certain blonde had been a thorn in his side long before he was blindsided by misguided notions of love and doing the right thing. That such thoughts perverted Spike's mind before he had a soul was particularly disgusting, and Spike wanted nothing more than to crawl the disgusting urges out of his skin.

He still dreamed of Buffy Summers' warm skin against his. He sometimes woke with the memory of her pulse thundering away in his ears, and though Spike wanted nothing more than to break open that vein and drink until it was empty, he was sickened with the memory that he had known her in ways few others had.

Something else he and Angel had in common.

Spike was so lost in his own head that he almost didn't notice when the elevator came to a stop and the doors split in front of him. The dull throb in the back of his head was almost gone, but he continued replaying events from earlier that night in his head. He was angry that he had lost out on a meal, but more importantly, he wanted another crack at the two Slayers who had interrupted his supper.

The blonde, especially.

Memories of Buffy made Spike's stomach flip. His hands curled into fists in the pockets of his black leather duster, and as he finally strode out of the elevator and onto a floor teeming with uniformed officers and plain-clothed detectives alike, the vampire couldn't hide the snarl. Spike wanted to believe the memory of Buffy's lips on his, visceral to the point that he could still taste them, was fake – some by-product of Wolfram &amp; Hart's meddling.

But Spike knew better. The memory was far too clear to be fake. He hated the way those memories made him feel, he hated even the slightest insinuation that he cared anything for the Slayer outside of his preternatural bloodlust.

_I love you._

_No, you don't. But thanks for saying it._

Forcing himself not to dwell on the worst memory of all – the one where he gave himself up fighting side-by-side with _her_ – Spike stopped in front of a desk, clearing his throat to get the attention of the Hispanic cop filing paperwork. Why that man was here in the dead of night was unclear, but Spike was thankful for it.

Detective Esposito looked up at the sound, dropping his pen. "Uh… can I help you?"

"Yeah. I'd like to press assault charges."

Glancing over his shoulder, and tapping his partner's shoulder, Esposito stood. The British man with hair so bright it practically glowed was definitely not the sort of person he was used to seeing at the precinct – especially at this hour – and that trenchcoat? Even ignoring the fact that the Twelfth's air conditioning was on the fritz, that was strange.

"Sir," Esposito explained, "this is Homicide."

Spike's dour expression brightened. "Perfect! I'd like to file attempted murder charges, then."

"What's your name?"

_I know I'm a monster… but you treat me like a man._

"Pratt." Spike shrugged. "William Pratt."

The vampire fought the urge to roll his eyes when the other detective instantly went back to his computer, typing the alias into some database. Modern technology was a pain in the ass sometimes, though Spike had to admit he was curious as to what they would find. Probably nothing, which was probably a problem.

"Sorry," the other detective, whose name plate read _Detective Ryan_, said. "Looks like you're not in the system."

_Bugger this._

Before either cop could react, Spike grabbed the back of Esposito's head and smashed him face-first into the surface of the desk. Detective Ryan drew his gun, only to have Spike whirl around and snatch it from his grasp. Ryan's wrist snapped in the process.

No sooner did the two detectives crumple to the floor, one unconscious and the other whimpering in pain, three uniformed officers had drawn their weapons and opened fire. Spike grit his teeth as the bullets seared through his body, his face shifting to the demonic visage of the vampire. The gunfire stopped, and the officers' eyes went wide at the sight.

They were so frozen with fear that they couldn't react when Spike closed the distance. He tackled one of the uniforms, the force of the blow knocking the gun out of her hand. The back of her head smacked against the hardwood floor, knocking her unconscious. The other two uniforms came at Spike from either side, but he grabbed their necks and squeezes until they dropped with a telltale _crack_.

_Ask me again why I could never love you!_

Another gunshot caught Spike in the shoulder. He spun around to see two more uniforms approaching with their guns drawn. A detective on the far end of the bullpen was cowered under their desk, phone cradled to their ear as they undoubtedly called for help. Not that the NYPD had anyone in the building who could handle Spike.

Even as the blood trickled down his chest, Spike grinned. His fangs were on full display and both officers froze at the sight. That opening was all Spike needed; he disarmed the male officer and kicked him out the window before grabbing the female officer. He pinned her back against his chest, a low growl spilling from his throat before he sank his fangs into the side of her neck. She didn't scream, but the gasp of pain was just as enticing as the metallic taste of her blood hitting his tongue.

For a second, Spike thought of turning the woman, but the sound of a gun cocking from behind stopped him. He dropped the woman in his arms and turned around, smiling at the sight of a disheveled black man cradling his gun in both hands. The barrel shook, and the deep breath the man sucked in was clearly an attempt to calm his own nerves.

"Well, now," Spike licked some of the blood from his bottom lip. "You the bloke in charge of this place?"

Every time Spike took a step forward, Roy Montgomery took a step back. His grip on the gun was so tight that his palms were sweating, the finger resting against the trigger shaking so badly that he thought he might inadvertently fire a shot. Considering there were only three bullets in the chamber…

"Stand down," he ordered in a voice far stronger than he felt. "Or I will shoot."

"Already full of slugs, mate." Spike grinned; over the other man's shoulder, he could see a placard that read _Detective Beckett_. The vampire couldn't help but laugh at the sheer luck of it. "Hurts like hell, but I kinda like it."

Montgomery got off one shot, hitting Spike in the stomach before the platinum-blond vampire closed the distance between them. Pushing Montgomery's arms up, Spike's growl was drowned out by the gunshot that tore through the ceiling. The momentum carried them both backwards, and when Montgomery's back slammed into the floor, his gun skidded several feet away from him.

"You're scared," Spike teased. "But it's different than the others. You know what I am."

"Helps having a Slayer on payroll," Roy said, punching Spike across the face, trying to ignore the jolt of pain in his hand.

"Yeah." Spike licked the blood pouring from his nose with a sadistic grin. "About her…"

_Say it's true._

Spike lifted Montgomery off the floor before flipping him onto the surface of Detective Beckett's desk. Roy cried out when his back smashed against the keyboard, his arm flailing to the side to knock both the monitor and a family of ceramic elephants off the desk. The elephants smashed into pieces on the floor, shards of ceramic resting against Spike's feet.

Grabbing a letter opener from the desk, Spike grinned and stabbed Montgomery in the shoulder. He grit his teeth to keep from crying out again, only to grunt when the blade twisted inside the wound.

"You're gonna give Detective Beckett a message for me."

_Say I do want to._

Spike pulled the letter opener out of Montgomery's shoulder, smeared in blood, before jamming it into the side of his neck. Roy made a sound that was part gasp, part choke, and the way his eyes widened was exactly the reaction Spike wanted. Short of outright screaming, ragged chokes and gasps for air were a fantastic signal of human suffering.

"On second thought, I'll give it to her myself."

_It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you._

By the time Spike removed the weapon again, Roy Montgomery's head slumped to the side, his eyes frozen in a look of horrified shock. His entire body had gone rigid, and though blood was still oozing from the holes in his neck and shoulder, the flow had almost slowed to a trickle.

It was only a matter of time before back-up came storming in, so Spike had to be quick. For all he knew, backup wouldn't come in the form of badges and guns, but stakes and holy water. Part of him hoped the two Slayers he encountered earlier were the backup; his personal vendetta needed to be dealt with soon. The longer her let that blonde occupy his head, the closer he would descend into madness.

Yanking a sheet of paper from a yellow legal pad still on the desk, Spike used Roy's own blood on the letter opener to write down a message, ignoring the groans of the detective whose wrist he had broken in the start of the scrum.

_You're beneath me._


	23. Chapter 23: Quickening

_**Author's Note: Sorry for the length of time between posts; fic writing appears to be slow-going these days. But business is picking up! Review, please!**_

* * *

"One of us should've stayed behind."

"Alexis will be fine, Faith," Buffy called out over her shoulder as she, Faith Lehane, and Kate Beckett patrolled the south end of Central Park – which mercifully was devoid of people at this late hour. The medieval arsenal the three women carried was all for one notorious, and recently-revived, bloodsucker.

One who had a personal past with Buffy and made the mistake of trying to snack on the wrong redhead. Alexis Castle was unharmed, but the near-miss with Spike had all three Slayers on high alert – to say nothing of the teenager's devoted father, whose eyes had held an anger none of them had seen when he learned of the attack.

"Not Red I'm worried about," Faith countered, stopping in her tracks.

"Okay, I'll bite." Kate hoisted the crossbow over her shoulder, stealing a glance at the full moon before turning her attention to the other Slayer. "What's wrong?"

"Just think one of us should've stayed behind with Ricky."

"Oh, so Castle needs a babysitter?"

"Right now, yeah." Rolling her eyes at the looks of disbelief the other two Slayers were giving her, Faith pocketed her stake and approached the duo. "Think about it. Spike went after _his daughter_."

"Which is why I made him promise to stay behind."

"No offense, Detective B, but his word doesn't mean jack right now."

Something resembling anger flashed in Kate's eyes, and part of her wanted to ball her fists and approach Faith. Physically, Kate was every bit Faith's equal, and seeing as how Kate had actual training of a sort over the years – the Police Academy wasn't the Watchers Council, but still – she was confident she would have the edge. But discretion held her back – as did the knowledge that she was dealing with someone who had done time for murder. Instead, Kate set her jaw and shook her head.

"He wouldn't break his word like that. Not to me."

"It's not about you, Kate." With a sigh, Faith turned to the blonde. "B, if he had attacked Dawn, would you sit on your ass and twiddle your thumbs while everyone else saddled up?"

"No," Buffy answered, "but I'm a Slayer. He's not."

"You think that matters to him?"

Buffy cursed under her breath as realization washed over her. Faith was right; in the short time Buffy had known the bestselling author, he had proven to be both a capable mind and a doting father. In a lot of ways, Richard Castle was the sort of father Buffy had wished for when she was a teenager.

Alexis was clearly the most important person in Castle's life – though Buffy could tell Kate was becoming increasingly important to him with each passing day – so there was no telling what he was willing to do to protect her.

Before any of them could comment any further, Kate's phone went off. With an eyeroll, she pulled the phone out with her free hand. Work always had a habit of butting in when she was trying to get something else done – it was tempting to sometimes ignore her phone, but NYPD regulations forbid it.

"Sorry," she shrugged before answering her phone. "Beckett."

The tone in LT's voice told Kate something was terribly wrong before the words themselves sank in. Kate's eyes widened and she dropped the crossbow in her other hand before cupping her palm over her mouth. Buffy and Faith both approached with apprehensive glances.

"Yeah," Kate said, her voice cracking. "Yeah, I'll… I'll be right there."

Buffy quirked a brow when Kate ended the call and pocketed her phone with a shaky hand. "Kate?"

"Precinct." Tears brimmed in Kate's eyes, and she swallowed hard. "_Now._"

* * *

_Angel Investigations_…

"The answer is no, Mr. Castle."

"He attacked my daughter!" Castle's jaw set as he approached Angel's desk, hands curled into fists. Despite his broad shoulders and impressive arms, Richard Castle would never be considered a violent, dangerous person. But the fire burning in his eyes, the way his fingernails dug into his palms… he felt like he could take on anyone, anything, and come out the other side.

"I understand that." Angel leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "You said the Slayers went after him?"

At this point, Castle refused to meet Angel's gaze because logically, he knew what the other man was about to tell him. About how the three women were far stronger, far better equipped to handle a vampire than he, that all the rage and protective nature in the world were no match for Spike's strength and bloodlust.

_Screw logic_, Castle thought, and not for the first time. He hadn't spent the past near-decade and a half raising and protecting his daughter to let some monster with a bad dye job get his paws on her. What kind of father would Castle be if he sat back whenever the apple of his eye was attacked?

"This isn't _just_ some vampire," Angel argued as he rose from his seat. "Spike is one of history's most ruthless and notorious monsters." Angel's shoulders hunched as he spoke, mostly because his brain was racked with confusion; how had Spike been brought back to life, and how had he been brought back without a soul?

He had a theory, but he didn't dare voice it right now.

Too anxious to sit, Castle had spent his time in Angel's office pacing back and forth. He now found himself staring at all the photographs hanging off the wall, chronicling the P.I. over the years, surrounded by a small ragtag group of allies. They appeared to be a family of sorts, even if they weren't always looking all that happy.

The green-faced man with the red horns and the splashy suits was of particular interest, and in different circumstances, Castle would've asked about him. But he still shook with rage and adrenaline, and if Castle was being honest with himself, he was mad at Angel for not cooperating with him.

"Do you know what it means to be a father, Angel?"

Clearly, Angel didn't – after all, vampires couldn't have children. Yet when Castle turned his attention from the wall to the vampire, he noticed that Angel wasn't meeting his gaze. The broody glum look returned to Angel's face, his hands clasped over his midsection. Angel was chewing on his lower lip, clearly holding something back.

There was a story there. A story he wanted to hear.

Before Castle could press any further, though, the phone rang. The shrill ringing startled both men before Angel grabbed the receiver. "Angel Investigations, we help the helpless."

Angel's eyes widened and he sat up straighter in his chair. Whatever he was being told, it was apparently serious. "What?!" The vampire bolted from his seat, grabbing the black overcoat that was draped over the back of the chair as he hung up without saying another word.

"What's going on?"

"Go home, Richard."

"What?" Castle frowned. "What about my daughter?"

"No offense, but your daughter is the least of my concern right now."

Before Castle could respond, Angel sped out of the office and slammed the door behind himself. He caught sight of an armory in the corner, a chest stuffed full with broadswords, crossbows, and other various weaponry. Part of Castle wanted to load up on weapons and go after Spike himself; in fact, it was _very_ tempting to do just that.

Screw everyone trying to protect him. What kind of father would Castle be if he let someone attack his daughter without repercussions? Then again… he had made a promise to Kate. Something was developing between them; he wasn't sure what, but it was definitely there. His own feelings for her had blossomed since he had weaseled himself into her life.

And really… if he went back on his word to Kate, what did that say about them? About him? No… as badly as Castle wanted to make sure Spike paid for what he had done, he gave Kate his word that he wouldn't go after him.

So despite every impulse screaming for him to do otherwise, Castle simply turned and walked out of Angel's office.

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

As soon as the elevator reached the Homicide floor, Kate Beckett pushed her way through, in a full sprint before the other two Slayers behind her could follow. Tears had burned at the edges of her eyes since receiving the call, but Kate hadn't allowed them to fall. Not even as her heart pounded against her ribcage, not even as her limbs threatened to give out.

She ignored the paramedics tending to Ryan and Esposito, pushing past them. By the time she reached her desk, which was roped off with yellow crime scene tape, her heart skipped a beat and her stomach did a back flip. Kate stopped in her tracks and cupped a hand to her mouth, choking back a sob when she saw Roy Montgomery's body sprawled out over the surface of the desk.

"Roy…" Another sob burst from Kate's lips and she felt both Buffy and Faith grabbing her arms. Tears began streaming down her face. She felt both women tug on her arm, trying to get her to distance herself from her own desk, but Kate wouldn't budge. Other than her shoulders rocking with each sob, she was still.

"Roy!"

Her voice cracked as it carried throughout the bullpen, calling the attention of the detectives and uniforms trying to pick up after the chaos. The body count was relatively low – aside from Montgomery, there were two dead uniforms. No one dared say a word; the only sounds in the precinct were the occasional groan of pain and Kate's crying.

Her knees wobbled and nearly buckled. Her vision clouded by emotion, the streaks on her face burning with despair, Kate tore herself from the other Slayers' grip before slicing through the tape and sinking into her chair. A pool of dried blood stained the hardwood floor, the end of a trail that had run from the side of Montgomery's neck all the way down the side of the desk.

"Letter opener punctured the carotid artery," the ME on scene, a balding man named Sidney Perlmutter, said from the other side of the crime scene tape. "He bled out within seconds."

Clenching her jaw and squeezing her eyes shut, Kate didn't notice when Detectives Ryan and Esposito approached the scene. Esposito was holding an ice pack over her face, while Ryan's arm was hoisted into a crude sling. Their eyes were red and puffy; at some point, they had the same reaction Kate was enduring.

"Who?" Kate's voice cracked. "Who did this?"

"Some British guy," Esposito said, the sound of his voice bringing Kate back to the here and now. "Black leather overcoat, platinum blonde hair."

"Said his name was William Pratt," Ryan added.

Kate's eyes flickered to the other two women, watching as Buffy cupped a hand over her mouth and stepped back. Her eyes had widened in shock and disgust. Faith snarled and curled her hands into fists before she began pacing back and forth in the bullpen, her combat boots stomping against the floor.

"Spike."

Ryan frowned. "What?"

Kate pushed herself out of her chair, stepping on a chunk of broken ceramic. She knelt down to pick up what was left of it, another wave of tears springing to her eyes when she saw it was a trunk from one of the elephants. One of the last ties to her mother… destroyed.

"His name is Spike," she said through a trembling lower lip.

Esposito shook his head. "Who the hell is Spike?"

Ryan turned to the other two women standing at Kate's desk. "And what the hell was up with his face?"

Buffy turned to Kate. "How much do these two know?"

Kate shook her head and swiped under her eyes. The tears wouldn't stop falling, even as they were burning her eyes on the way down. She sniffled and sucked in a ragged breath, unable to tear her gaze away from the dead captain on her desk. "Nothing."

"What?" Esposito closed the distance. "What don't we know, Beckett?"

Buffy gently placed a hand on Esposito's arm, pursing her lips at the glare he shot her way. "Spike's a… he's a vampire."

"A _what_?!"

"Come on," Faith told the other two detectives, opening the door to one of the conference rooms and cocking her head to the side. "Buffy and I will explain everything to you. Let's just… give Beckett some space."

Esposito turned to look at Kate once more, taking in the wet streaks on her face and the zoned-out look in her eyes. She looked like she wasn't even in the same room as everyone else, the shock of Roy Montgomery dead and sprawled out on her desk apparently too much to bear. Not that he could blame her.

In fact, when Spike had first unleashed hell on everyone, it appeared random, senseless. But once he saw Detective Beckett's desk, things turned personal. For no other reason than that, Esposito wanted answers, even if he knew next to nothing about the other two women.

So he clenched his jaw and sighed before turning to walk into the conference room, slapping Ryan on his good arm. "C'mon, bro. Let's get us some answers."

Buffy led the two detectives into the conference room and Faith followed. Before she shut the door, though, Faith pulled out her smartphone and shot a quick text to Castle. Once the message sent, Faith sighed and pocketed the device before lowering and closing the blinds.

Now in her relative solitude – kept company only by Montgomery's body and the coroner's staff working the scene – Kate sniffled and shook her head. Her mentor dead, her link to her late mother in tatters on the floor. Spike had sent her a message, whatever it was. Why, she didn't know; clearly, the vampire had history with the other two Slayers – Buffy especially – but what was his beef with Kate?

They had only thrown down that one time in the alley, and honestly, he wasn't nearly as dangerous as everyone kept telling her he was. Or at least, that had been Kate's thought before he waltzed right into the Twelfth and went on a rampage.

"Detective?"

LT's voice cut through Kate's haze, and she looked up with bloodshot eyes. His eyes were just as red and raw, and he gave a sympathetic smile that more closely resembled a grimace.

"This… this is for you." He handed Kate a sheet of yellow paper in an evidence bag. "We found it on Captain Montgomery's body."

Nausea nearly doubled Kate over as she took the bag from LT with a nod of thanks, not trusting herself to open her mouth without either vomiting or losing it all over again. She sucked in as deep a breath as she could, even with the weight of the moment crushing her, her fingers shaking as her eyes scanned the paper.

Kate gagged. He had written her a note, and he had used Montgomery's blood to do it.

_Sorry about your captain, love. It should've been you._

_William sends his regards._

* * *

_Castle's loft…_

In the hours since Castle returned home, he had tried to get some writing done. Even though _Heat Wave_ was in Black Pawn's hands, going through revisions and formatting and everything else to get ready for launch, Gina had already been on his case about writing another book. Why, he didn't know, but he thought starting another Nikki Heat book would calm him.

After all, the closer he and Kate had gotten in recent weeks, the more vocal his muse became. Nikki Heat was calling out to him at all hours, and it was all he could do to jot everything down. He easily had enough ideas for about ten more Nikki Heat books.

Yet here he sat, empty scotch bottle on his desk and a blinking cursor mocking him.

The anger had not been soothed with time, and alcohol had not extinguished it. He couldn't get the idea of that monster going after his daughter out of his head, and even though he made himself stay put at his desk, determined to keep his word, he was too busy imagining himself setting Spike on fire to really do Nikki Heat justice.

Castle closed his laptop with a sigh, leaning back in his chair and staring out the window. Storm clouds were rolling in, covering what had been a bright moon. He glanced at the clock, seeing that it was nearly four in the morning. None of the Slayers had returned, Castle had just realized, and it gave him pause.

Were they still hunting after Spike? Or had something else come up?

His smartphone chimed with an incoming text message, the sound startling Castle and momentarily snapping him out of his scotch- and anger-induced haze. He ran a hand over his face and stifled a yawn, seeing that the message was from Faith.

When his eyes scanned the words, Castle went cold.

_Captain's dead. Detective B's gonna need you. _


	24. Chapter 24: Mourning

_**Author's Note: Man, this is so much fun to write... I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am. Please review!**_

_**Posted for #CastleFanficMonday.**_

* * *

_The Twelfth…_

By the time Angel made it to the Twelfth Precinct, Roy Montgomery's body had been removed from Detective Beckett's desk and was en route to the medical examiner's lab. Whispers were that Perlmutter would handle the autopsy, offering to do the deed so Dr. Parish wouldn't have to make the decision herself.

Perlmutter was a dick, but that was a nice gesture on his part.

The yellow crime scene tape surrounded the desk, chunks of broken ceramic still littering the floor. Angel paused in front of the elevator to take in his surroundings; much of the bullpen was now empty, save two uniforms in the far corner shaking their heads and speaking in hushed tones.

He saw Buffy and Faith in the conference room, having an animated conversation with Detectives Ryan and Esposito. Ryan was staring at the table and shaking his head, while Esposito held a wooden stake in his hand and was looking at Buffy as if she had just beamed down from Omicron Persei 8.

Next to the conference room sat what used to be Montgomery's office. The door was shut and he could see Kate sitting at the desk, her eyes red and brimmed with tears as she thumbed through several file folders. Angel remembered the night Montgomery tried to hand off several manila folders to him, telling him they were pertinent to figuring out who killed Johanna Beckett, but the vampire had refused.

He wondered if those were the files Kate was looking at.

Every impulse told Angel to go to Kate, to check on her. But he wouldn't know what to say, for one thing, and it seemed half the time like they were on such shaky ground that he didn't want to risk bearing the brunt of her emotional outburst. She was entitled to one, but the last thing Angel wanted right now was to be her punching bag.

In a perfect world, that would be Spike.

His eyes scanned over Kate's desk. The keyboard was smashed, keys broken off. The monitor was cracked, and there was hardly anything left of the elephants she once kept at the edge of her desk. She loved those elephants, one of her last remaining ties to her mother, and the fact that they were destroyed in this ambush was as much of an insult as anything else.

Dried blood ran down the side of the desk to the floor. Angel didn't have to lean in to tell it was Montgomery's, but the stench of it was still familiar to him. He could smell others' blood whether he wanted to or not, and it didn't even have to be spilled anywhere for him to catch a whiff.

Rumblings were a letter opener had killed him, so at least Spike hadn't turned the captain.

Small consolation.

Angel crouched next to the desk, something dark on the floor having caught his eye. With a frown, the vampire reached over and grabbed a mini cassette tape off the floor, his brow furrowing even more as he studied the trinket in his hands.

What was on this tape? Where had it come from?

If the ceramic surrounding the area where Angel had found the tape was any indication, it would seem the tape was hidden _inside_ the elephants. But… that wasn't right. Was it? That didn't make any sense.

Unless…

Standing, Angel scanned the bullpen once again to make sure no one was paying him any mind. He slipped the tape into the pocket of his leather coat, casting one last glance at Montgomery's old office. Kate was still hunched over in his chair, reading something. The other two Slayers were still talking to Ryan and Esposito, and Esposito's muffled curses were carrying through the glass.

Deciding against the elevator, Angel wandered to the stairwell. If the tape contained what he thought, this would be the break he had been looking for over the past couple years. But he wouldn't do that to Kate. Not after the way things had been between them.

No… if this was in fact the big break, he would make sure _she_ made the discovery, not him.

* * *

_Wolfram &amp; Hart…_

"You did _what_?!"

Spike shrugged and lit a cigarette, pocketing his silver Zippo as the first drag filled the conference room. Lindsey McDonald sat at the end of the table in silence, arms folded over his chest as he stared out the window overlooking the Manhattan skyline. Sunrise would be in another couple hours, and Lindsey had never left the previous day.

In a way, he couldn't care less what Spike did. He hadn't even wanted to resurrect the vampire in the first place. But the Senior Partners were bending over backwards to appease Senator Bracken, as if his Ascension was the end-all, be-all.

Lindsey remembered the last time the Senior Partners went all-in on something. The Los Angeles branch of Wolfram &amp; Hart still hadn't been re-built.

"Come off it, mate," Spike said, pushing himself off the edge of the table and approaching an angry William Bracken. "So I decided to blow off some bloody steam. Beckett's boss was just an added bonus."

Bracken swatted the cigarette out of Spike's mouth before grabbing him by the t-shirt and getting in his face. Not even the smell of rotting flesh bothered the Senator at the moment. "You _idiot_!"

Grabbing Bracken's wrist, Spike's face shifted into its demonic visage, eyes feral and fangs sharp. Pulling the Senator's hand off of him, the vampire reached up with his other hand and grabbed Bracken's neck.

"Why don't you start at the beginning, for those of us in the back of the room?"

"Roy Montgomery and I had a deal," Bracken explained through clenched teeth. "He had information on me that would ruin my career."

"I did you a favor, then."

"And what if Detective Beckett gets her hands on that information?" Bracken shot back, spittle flying from his mouth. "Hm? What then?"

"What's it to you, mate?" Spike dug another cigarette out of the mashed pack in his coat, his lighter _clacking_ open and shut as he lit it. "I told you I'd kill the bint, and I bloody well plan on holding up my end of the bargain."

"You better." Bracken's jaw clenched. "Cause if you don't? I can stuff you into an ash tray just as easily as I plucked your sorry ass out of the ether and back into that body of yours."

Spike punched Bracken in the face before plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and snuffing it out over the Senator's forehead. Bracken grunted in pain as a small burn mark appeared on his forehead – but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

Bracken smacked the cigarette out of Spike's hand – again – before grabbing the vampire by the neck and lifting him off the ground. Spike tugged on Bracken's wrist with both hands, but his arm wasn't going to budge.

"I did not come to America on a disgusting, shit-infested boat in the 1940s to have some self-important vampire ruin everything for me." Bracken's lips curled into a sneer and his fingers tightened around Spike's neck; he knew the vampire didn't need to breathe, but the pressure on the sensitive bones of his neck sufficed.

"I have endured the trials. I have done everything Ky-laag's disciples have asked of me. I have looked into the Deeper Well and been greeted by the abyss. I have sacrificed Earthly pleasures for the slightest chance at shedding this weak form and becoming what I was truly meant to be."

Bracken tossed Spike across the room as if he were little more than a stuffed animal.

"And I will not let you get in my way."

* * *

_Castle's loft…_

Richard Castle had been numb since receiving the text from Faith telling him that Roy Montgomery had been killed. His reply had been met with silence, and Castle could only guess what Kate was going through right now. Captain Montgomery had always been friendly with Castle, and he had proven to be a formidable foe at the poker table.

More importantly, Montgomery's approval was what gave Castle the chance to shadow Kate. It had started as book research, a necessary step in making sure _Heat Wave_ and all subsequent Nikki Heat novels had an air of authenticity to them. But it had quickly gone beyond that, and Castle had found himself increasingly growing to care for Kate.

It had gone so far, in fact, that if it wasn't yet love, it would be soon.

His first instinct upon hearing the news was to reach out to Kate. He needed to be there for her, even if there was nothing for him to do. Even Faith had mentioned that Kate would need him, but for once, Castle decided to exercise restraint. Kate would come to him in due time, and when she did, he would make sure he was there.

The clock was pushing five in the morning. In a couple hours, Alexis would be up and getting ready to go to school. Suddenly, the fact that some vampire with terrible taste in hair had attacked her was no longer his most pressing concern. Captain Montgomery's death trumped everything else right now.

So instead of sleeping, Castle was in his office nursing a glass of scotch.

A knock at the front door caught Castle's attention mid-sip. He frowned, wondering who the hell could be paying him a visit at this hour. He briefly wondered if it was Kate, but she wouldn't have knocked first. Likewise for the other two Slayers. Reluctantly, Castle set his glass aside and rose from his chair.

Castle pulled the door open, only to be greeted with the sight of Rupert Giles.

"Mr. Castle."

"Rupert."

As glad as Castle was to see the man, his presence also brought with it a sense of dread. It wasn't that different from when Buffy Summers had first shown up – at that point, both Kate and Faith had mentioned that Buffy's presence meant things were getting serious. As far as Castle was concerned, Giles' presence was further confirmation of that.

"Come in," Castle said as he stepped to the side. "How've you been?"

"Better," Giles answered as the door shut behind him. He removed his glasses and began wiping them with a small handkerchief, dark bags evident under his eyes. "Where are the Slayers?"

"Dealing with a crisis at the moment," Castle said. "Beckett's captain is dead."

"Dear lord."

"As if things couldn't get any worse." Castle shook his head. "They keep talking about something called an Ascension, Spike attacked my daughter, now this."

Giles blinked and put his glasses back on. "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't even know where to start."

"Did you say Spike?"

"Raidoactive hair, regular Billy Idol ripoff," Castle explained with a dismissive wave. The anger was still there, but it was simmering below the surface now, no doubt dulled by the alcohol he had consumed since his return from Angel's office.

"Bloody hell," Giles muttered and pinched his nose. "I'd love to say that's impossible, that Spike's dead, but the bastard's cheated death twice already."

Castle wandered back into his office with Giles following. By the time the writer reached his desk, he grabbed another clear glass and poured scotch into it before topping off the rest of his own glass. Handing the second glass to Giles, Castle heaved an exhausted sigh and raised his glass in a toast.

"To whatever the hell's going on these days," he said.

Both men downed their drinks in one gulp. Giles shook his head and hissed before turning to glance over his shoulder. The bookshelf was several rows tall and packed full. One row was nothing but old Derrick Storm novels. His eyes immediately went to _Unholy Storm_ before he reached out and pulled the book from its spot.

"This was a good one," Giles muttered. "All things considered."

"Yeah." Castle cringed. "Derrick Storm and zombies don't exactly go together."

"I appreciate you not mentioning me in the Acknowledgements," Giles added. "I was already in hot water with the Council; undue publicity was the last thing I, or they, needed. Still wish you hadn't killed him."

A devilish smile crept onto Castle's face. "Just wait until you read _Heat Wave_."

Giles arched a brow. "_Heat Wave_?"

"The first novel for my new character: NYPD homicide detective and monster hunter Nikki Heat."

"Nikki…" Giles shook his head, again removing his glasses. "I must say, Mr. Castle, for all of your strengths as a writer, names have never been one of them."

"This coming from the man who trained a Slayer named Buffy."

Reaching for the scotch bottle and pouring the rest into his glass, Rupert Giles sunk himself into a chair that was entirely too plush before downing the drink in one swift gulp. Setting the empty glass on the floor, the Watcher smirked and shook his head. "Touché."

"I'm told you were around for the last Ascension." Castle's expression turned serious, the bags under his eyes exaggerated by the harsh light on his desk. "Is it as bad as Buffy and Faith make it seem?"

"Worse." Giles sank even further into his seat. "The only way we could kill the last demon to Ascend was to destroy the grounds of Sunnydale High School. All of this on the heels of Columbine, mind you."

"So either we wind up causing a massive amount of destruction," Castle sighed, "or we find a way to stop Bracken before he can Ascend. Which… I don't know how we can."

"I may be able to help with that."

Before Castle had a chance to respond – and honestly, he has far too confused to think of anything to say – Giles rose from his chair and pulled an overstuffed file folder from the brown leather satchel he had been carrying.

"I would much rather have this conversation in Katherine's presence," Giles said, giving a knowing smile when Castle reacted to his use of Kate's formal name, "but seeing as how she is dealing with a crisis of her own, I'm afraid we don't have much time."

Castle took the folder with a quirked brow. "What is this?"

"Richard, how much do you know about Johanna Beckett's murder?"

"Not much." Castle placed the folder on his desk without opening it, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling a foreboding sense of dread building in his chest. "Only what Angel's told me."

"I'm afraid it goes much deeper than anyone realizes," Giles explained. "And I believe Captain Montgomery's death might be related."


	25. Chapter 25: Tell Me

_**Author's Note: The funny thing about this crossover... at first, I wasn't sure how it would all fit. Yeah, the idea of Kate Beckett, vampire slayer *sounded* cool, but I wasn't really sure how the execution would work. This has been so much more fun and more intense than I could've imagined, and I hope you are enjoying the ride as much as me. Leave a review if so!**_

* * *

_Angel Investigations…_

As soon as Angel walked back into his office, he pulled the mini cassette out of his coat before shedding the garment and tossing it onto the leather sofa in the corner. He lowered himself into his swivel chair with an exhausted sigh, staring at the device in his hands. Curiosity was still eating at him; he had decided that he would give the tape to Kate, let her figure out what was on it rather than poking around himself.

But still, it was tempting.

Opening the drawer, Angel tossed the cassette in and shut it. He wasn't going to go investigating behind Kate's back anymore. Any hope of romantic reconciliation on their part was gone - thanks at least in part to a meddlesome but incredibly loyal mystery writer - but Faith had been right when she challenged his desire to get answers on his own.

Angel still wanted to know who killed Johanna Beckett - and why - but he had learned that he was better off letting Kate tackle that personal hurdle. His own selfish curiosities had meant the demise of their relationship, but he was still fond of her.

The lights came on and before Angel could react, he felt the prick of a crossbow aimed at his neck. He looked up to see Lilah Morgan standing over him, a dark smirk on her face. Tearing his glance away from her, Angel saw Lindsey McDonald emerge from the shadows. It took all the restraint the vampire had not to ball his hands into fists.

Instead, Angel kept as still as he could, even as his jaw clenched.

"Hello, Angel."

"Lilah."

"Just like old times." The sneer on Lindsey was the same one he used to wear in L.A., and Angel's desire to smack it clear off his face was no less intense after all these years. Then again, what was one decade to someone who had been alive for almost three centuries?

"How'd they rope you back in, Lindsey?" Angel's eyes narrowed. "Same clause in your contract as Lilah? Bet the Senior Partners pay extra special attention to you after what you did in L.A."

"We want everything you have on Johanna Beckett's murder," Lindsey replied.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Angel flinched when Lilah dug the tip of the arrow a little bit harder against his neck. She probably wouldn't kill him if she pulled the trigger – chances were a simple arrow wouldn't decapitate him – but the newfound ferocity in her eyes told Angel she would pull the trigger in a heartbeat. Something he wasn't sure he could've said about her toward the end of her tenure in Los Angeles.

"Then I guess you don't know anything about the file on your monitor." Lindsey quirked a brow. "Or the notes you've got jotted on a pad downstairs."

"I'm sure the NYPD would be glad to know you've broken into my property."

"And I'm sure they'd be glad to know you have photocopies of official NYPD case files hidden away in your basement." Lindsey approached the desk and placed a hand on Lilah's shoulder; reluctantly, she lowered the crossbow. "Did Detective Beckett give you that file? Hm? I mean, I know you two were chummy for a while, but… sharing official NYPD documents? Can't imagine One PP would like that."

"Unless the fact that they're letting a novelist follow her around means they're really relaxing their policies," Lilah added.

Angel's eyes flicked back and forth between the two lawyers. "What's your interest in Richard Castle?"

Lindsey shrugged. "Aside from Gina Cowell's bank account, there is none. We're focused on Detective Beckett."

"And why is that?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Lindsey sat at the edge of the desk, leaning in until his face hovered inches away from Angel's. "Does she know you're still poking around Johanna's case?"

"What's your interest in Johanna Beckett?"

Lindsey shrugged in disinterest, even as the look on his face betrayed him. "Why would we be interested in a civil rights attorney who's been dead for the last… how long has it been?" Lindsey shook his head and smirked. "As brilliant a legal mind as the city of New York ever saw, yet she was still dumb enough to slip into an alley by herself in the dead of night. From my experience, her daughter's just as reckless."

Angel's nostrils flared as he grit his teeth. "You leave Kate alone…"

Lindsey's eyes narrowed. "Weren't you friendly with another cop named Kate once? How'd that work out for you?"

Before either lawyer could register what had happened, Angel leapt from his chair and came up to them from behind. He grabbed both Lindsey and Lilah by their respective necks as his face morphed into the disgusting mask of the undead, fangs teasingly close to the side of Lilah's neck. Both lawyers froze, but they gave no outward show of fear.

They were bolder than Angel remembered.

"Maybe I wasn't clear the first time," Angel growled. "I catch either one of you sniffing around Detective Beckett, Wolfram &amp; Hart's gonna be short two lawyers again."

Angel released his grip on Lilah to grab the crossbow from her grasp, spinning her around and pointing the weapon at her neck. He kept his other hand wrapped around Lindsey's neck, tightly enough that the other lawyer was gasping for breath. The vampire was hoping for either of them to make a move, to give him a reason to finish them off.

Logically, Angel knew that wouldn't mean the end of them - Wolfram &amp; Hart didn't work that way - but right now, a little violence was just the release he needed. Lindsey and Lilah were just convenient targets.

"Alright." Lilah nodded once, exhaling when Angel lowered the crossbow and released Lindsey. "Have it your way, Angel."

The two lawyers composed themselves and wandered to the office's exit. Lilah left the office, but Lindsey held back, failing to suppress a smirk and grabbing the door frame. The lawyer's smile only grew when he looked up and saw Angel still snarling at him with yellow, feral eyes.

"Oh, and, uh…" Lindsey chuckled to himself, "Spike sends his best."

* * *

_Castle's loft…_

"I'm sorry," Castle shook his head and grabbed the scotch bottle, uncorking it and taking a swig. This was no longer a pour-drinks-into-a-glass kind of night. "You lost me, Rupert. You mean to tell me all of this goes back to Beckett's mother?"

"More or less," Giles affirmed. "Johanna was an informant for the Council."

Castle took another swig before capping the bottle and sliding it across his desk to Giles. "I thought Johanna was a lawyer."

Giles shrugged and took a swig of his own. "The same way I used to be a high school librarian."

A disbelieving smirk passed through Castle's lips, and in the moment, he was acutely aware of the stubble grown into his cheeks. It had been one hell of a day in a long line of days that were hard to believe - even for his overactive imagination. Castle made his living in the fantastical, but this was far from anything he could ever conjure up onto the page.

"Next thing you'll be telling me you Watchers were spies for the Queen." Castle shook his head and he couldn't help the rueful smile on his face. "You weren't Agent 007 by any chance, were you?"

"No." Giles chuckled and shook his head. "Not near handsome enough, I'm afraid."

Hurried footsteps descending the staircase caught Castle's attention, and he glanced at the clock to notice that it was almost 6:30 in the morning. Castle looked up to see his daughter bound into the room with far more energy than the hour allowed, throwing her arms around Giles with an excited squeal.

"Uncle Rupert!" she exclaimed as Giles' arms wrapped around her.

"Dear lord, Alexis!" Giles shook his head and tightened the hug. "You're practically a grown-up now!"

"Don't remind me," Castle muttered under his breath.

"What brings you to New York?" Alexis asked with a crooked brow once the hug ended.

"Work," Giles answered, throwing a glance Castle's way. "I figured I would stop by, see an old friend… congratulate him on his latest book."

Alexis frowned. "At… six in the morning?"

"Yes, well," Giles chuckled, "I'm afraid I'm still operating on London time."

"Are you staying long?"

"As long as the job requires," Giles was being cryptic, clearly trying to shield Alexis from whatever was going on. He exchanged another glance with Castle before the redhead's hand on his shoulder caught his attention.

"Well, I have to get ready to go to school," Alexis lamented. "Maybe we can catch up when I get home?"

"Yes, that would be lovely." Giles smiled. "I'll make us a spot of tea."

The young redhead pulled Giles into another quick hug before leaving her father's office and heading back up the stairs. Rupert, smiling, removed his glasses and lowered himself into the outrageously soft chair again.

"Your daughter has grown into quite the remarkable young woman, Richard."

"Tell me about it," Castle said with a wistful smile - one that disappeared as soon as he heard the front door to his loft open and shut. The sun was starting to rise, rays spilling out in between the high rises of SoHo and starting to illuminate his office in strips. Castle had been awake for almost twenty-four hours by this point, but any exhaustion he felt melted away when he saw Kate stride from the door and into his office.

Castle barely had time to register how red her eyes were before Kate was standing right in front of him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and burying her face in the nape of his neck. When she was wearing her heels, Kate Beckett wasn't that much shorter than Castle. Once the shock of the contact wore off - Kate never touched Castle aside from ear-twisting or nose-pinching - he enveloped the detective in his arms and gave her a comforting squeeze.

Castle and Giles locked eyes as Kate began to softly cry into the writer's shoulder. His hand rubbed up and down the small of her back as softly and smoothly as possible, but she didn't appear to be calming. Giles was the first to break eye contact, focusing on a spot on the floor as he, yet again, removed his glasses.

"I'm so sorry, Kate," Castle whispered, feeling the burn of emotion in his own eyes.

Her fingers clutched into Castle's shirt, which was wrinkled from a full day's wear. Castle gave her another squeeze, and he could feel a damp spot forming near his collar. Kate whispered something into the fabric of his shirt, something he couldn't make out, and Castle gently pulled out of the hug to hold onto Kate's shoulders.

"Beckett," he said softly. "Kate… are you with me?"

With a sniffle, and a wipe of the back of her hand against her cheek, Kate nodded. "It was Spike," she said through a cracking voice, shaking her head. "He… he walked into the precinct and just… went off."

Castle clenched his jaw. "Is everyone else alright?"

"He killed two other officers," Kate began, pausing to swallow back another sob. "Broke Ryan's wrist and gave Espo a concussion." The detective looked up, her worn eyes locking with Castle's. "Montgomery was found dead on my desk, my letter opener had been jabbed into his neck. And there was a note."

"What did the note say?"

A soft upper-crest British voice broke the moment, and Kate glanced at Castle in confusion before turning around. With another sniffle, Kate swiped at her eyes again as her brows furrowed. "Who are you?"

"Rupert Giles," the older man stood and placed his glasses back on his face.

"Last I saw Buffy, she was at the precinct," Kate muttered, glancing back and forth between the two men, as if she were imploring Castle to provide some answers.

"I'm here to see you, actually."

"Me?" Kate shook her head. "Castle, what's going on?"

"Beckett," Castle gave Kate's shoulders a squeeze, "what did that note say?"

"It read, 'Sorry about your captain, love. It should've been you. William sends his regards'."

Giles sighed and began pacing. "I was afraid of that."

Kate's frown deepened. "Afraid of what? And who's William?"

Giles picked up the file folder that had been resting, unopened, on Castle's desk. Handing the folder to Kate, Rupert fixed her with a sympathetic gaze and a single nod. "Katherine, I have reason to believe your captain's death is related in some way to Johanna Beckett's murder."

Taking the folder, but not opening it, Kate stared at Giles with a mixture of fury and confusion in her eyes. "How do you know about my mother?"

"Your mother was once a close personal friend, Detective."


	26. Chapter 26: Blast from the Past

**_Author's Note: Please review this fic, guys... and check out my new fic "Double Lives," which is a Castle-NCIS crossover._**

* * *

"Your mother was once an informant for the Council of Watchers," Rupert Giles explained; it was better to just get everything out in the open and answer any questions Kate had after the fact rather than dance around the truth of it all. "Even back then, William Bracken was on our radar."

Kate's eyes widened, and she turned to look up at Castle. "William…"

The note. The one Spike had left on Roy Montgomery's body. At first, Kate thought that might have just been the vampire speaking in third person, showing off as only he could after such mindless bloodshed.

But was it an actual message? Did Spike's actions lead them to a path of something deeper?

Even the thought of that made Kate shudder.

"Ascensions are rather time-consuming affairs," Giles said. "Decades, if not centuries, in the making. If one knows what to watch out for, the signs become apparent thirty, forty years before anything is imminent."

"And you saw the signs with Bracken," Castle theorized.

"Precisely." Giles offered a rueful smile. "Well, Quentin Travers did."

Kate's brow furrowed in confusion, and she reached out to take Castle's hand into her own - to ground herself more than anything else. The grief of losing Captain Montgomery and the insinuation that it was in some way related to both her mother's murder and Senator Bracken's supposed Ascension, made her knees weak.

The whole thing was beyond overwhelming, and not for the first time, Kate wondered if this was the life of a Slayer. Constant uphill battles, an Apocalypse seeming to lurk around every corner. It was an exhausting and frightening way to live, and Kate couldn't imagine a world where only _one_ woman in the world had to deal with this.

"Mr. Travers?" She shook her head. "Mom always told me he was just a legal consultant."

"Quentin was a great deal more than that." Giles nodded in the direction of the file folder still clutched in Kate's hand. "He first alerted us to Bracken's Ascension plans when we were dealing with our own crisis in Sunnydale.

"Your mother was in the middle of working a case of her own at the time, a mobster named Joe Pulgatti who had been convicted of murdering an undercover federal agent."

"I remember that case," Castle said. "Bob Armen, killed in an alley in Washington Heights."

"The same alley where my mother was killed."

"Pulgatti was innocent." Giles took the folder from Kate before opening it. "He was in that alley with Armen that night, but he wasn't the gunman." He handed Kate a sheet of paper. "That is a copy of the official police report. Look who made the arrest."

Castle stood close to Kate, looking over her shoulder to study the file. "John Raglan."

Kate's eyes shot up to the older British man standing across from her. "Raglan also worked my mom's case."

"The alley in which Armen was killed is a blind alley," Giles explained. "When I landed earlier this evening, that was the first place I went. The only way to know Pulgatti was in that alley with Armen that night was if someone else was in that alley with them."

Kate shook her head. "There's no account of a witness in the arrest report."

A light bulb went off in Castle's head. "Raglan was there."

Giles nodded. "Not just Raglan, either. There were two other men with him, both cops."

"What were they doing there?"

"Armen was investigating an extortion ring." Giles returned to his seat, closing the folder. "Three men were kidnapping mobsters and holding them for ransom. Pulgatti was the target that night."

"Only when Armen showed up, everything went sideways," Castle said.

Kate nodded. "So instead of kidnapping Pulgatti, they killed Armen and pinned the murder on him." The detective ducked her head, closing her eyes. "And after his conviction, the result of an investigation Raglan steered, Pulgatti contacted my mom and asked her to hear his case."

"That still doesn't explain how it connects back to Captain Montgomery's murder." Castle's jaw set. "Or Senator Bracken."

"Because Roy Montgomery was one of the three men." Giles removed his glasses, leveling a serious gaze to the pair in front of him. "And he could be our link to Bracken."

* * *

_Manhattan…_

Crossbow at the ready, Faith Lehane peered over the brick wall in one of Manhattan's many back alleys, narrowing her gaze and holding up her free hand. Buffy Summers and the two men who insisted on tagging along stopped behind the dark-haired Slayer, awaiting further instruction. Faith still felt strange being the point on this operation, but putting Buffy in charge always led to tension.

And putting one of the two men in charge was out of the question. Not only were they woefully ill-prepared for dealing with vampires, but they were also walking wounded. Detective Esposito was nursing a concussion, while Detective Ryan had a broken wrist.

If Faith had her way, they would still be at the police station. But they were as stubborn as she, and the Slayer knew it was only partially due to the fact that they were cops. Their allegiance - to each other, as well as to Detective Beckett - was so strong that they would run head-first into a firefight if necessary.

Faith wouldn't admit it, but she admired that.

"Clear," she whispered over her shoulder before the four of them began their patrol once more. The hunt for Spike was now into its second hour, and the trail was as cold as it had been when they started. Faith cast a sideways glance to see Buffy staring off to the side, her face hidden from view and the grip on her own crossbow tight to the point that her knuckles were ghost-white.

Her history with Spike was… Faith wasn't sure if _complicated_ was a strong enough word. There was no telling how this was affecting Buffy, to know that Spike was not only back, but back without a soul. Just because this wasn't their first encounter with a recently-unensouled vampire, that didn't mean it got easier.

"Yo, Faith," Esposito muttered, picking up the pace so he was by Faith's side, "what's up with the whole Slayer bit? How come you're always girls?"

"Dunno," Faith shrugged her shoulders. "Just better at it, I guess."

"Still can't believe Beckett's one of them," Ryan said with a shake of his head.

"I can." Esposito stopped in his tracks, and when Faith turned to glance at him, she could see how crooked his nose was and how deep the bruising had gotten. Ryan and Esposito definitely should not have tagged along. "Come on, bro… badass like Beckett, you don't think she could handle herself against the undead?"

Both men made a face, clearly still grappling with the reality that creatures such as vampires existed. As Esposito had said back at the precinct, it was bad enough the city was overrun with murderers and drug dealers and mobsters… now they had to worry about monsters too?

"Look," Buffy interjected, "clearly I don't know her as well as you two. But I do know this: Spike would much rather deal with me and Faith. Cause if _she_ gets to him first? There's no telling what she'll do."

"Well, I for one would love to find out."

The cocky British voice caught the two Slayers and the two detectives off-guard. While Ryan and Esposito wisely took a step back, Buffy barely registered the leather-clad presence puffing on a cigarette before she pulled the trigger on her crossbow. The arrow flew through the night air, only to have Spike snatch it before it had a chance to puncture his heart.

With a smirk, Spike snapped the arrow in two and tossed it to the pavement. "Now, love… is that any way to greet an old flame?"

"One that just murdered a police captain, yeah."

"Ooh, heard about that, did you?" The disgusting smile on Spike's face grew as he pushed himself off the wall and tossed his cigarette aside. "So did Detective Beckett get my message?"

Ryan and Esposito lunged for Spike simultaneously, only to be held back by the two Slayers. Esposito grit his teeth, an angry red flare in his cheeks. Ryan, even with one arm immobilized, almost pushed his way past Buffy, trying to duck under her arms before she finally pushed him back.

"They've got moxy," Spike teased. "I like that. But tell me, gents… what exactly were you planning on doing to me?"

Faith smacked the butt of her crossbow against Spike's jaw. As he lost his footing, she twirled on the balls of her feet and caught his nose with the heel of her boot. Spike crumpled to the ground, blood oozing from his nostrils. Before he could react, Faith was straddling him, yanking on his leather coat and pointing her crossbow at his neck.

"Faith!" Buffy called out from behind.

Faith ignored the other Slayer, gritting her teeth and pushing the tip of the arrow resting in the quiver until it broke skin. Spike laughed through gritted teeth as blood seeped down the side of his neck. "Go on, pet. Pull the bloody trigger."

"Faith," Buffy implored again.

"What, B?!" Faith bit back. "You want me to _spare_ him? This isn't your little fucktoy anymore!"

"Oh, but I could be." A sinister grin spread across Spike's lips, made all the worse by the blood drying into his pale skin. "Remember how much fun that used to be, Slayer? Especially that night in the bathro -"

Before Spike could even finish the thought, Buffy kicked him in the chin. Bone cracked and more blood spilled onto the pavement. Yet Spike laughed once again, turning to glance at the dark-haired Slayer still mounted atop his lap. "What about you, Faith? You wanna ride?"

Without a second thought, Faith pulled the trigger. The arrow pierced straight through Spike's neck, and he gargled and gasped. Writhing on the ground in pain, Spike clutched as the weapon embedded in his trachea as Faith pushed herself upright again, tossed the crossbow aside, and grabbed Buffy by the shoulder.

"What the _fuck_, B?!" Faith's teeth gnashed together as she pushed the other Slayer back up against the wall. "I thought we wanted him _dead_!"

Buffy punched Faith in the face before pushing herself off the wall. "We need Spike alive! We need him to get to Bracken!"

"Oh, so we're back to taking orders from Buffy again?" Faith bit back, punching the blonde Slayer across the nose. She leaned back to dodge another blow before kicking Buffy in the stomach.

Buffy was about to push herself off the wall again when a gunshot rang out. Startled, both Slayers looked to the side to Esposito standing over Spike, a smoking firearm in his hand and a bullet hole in Spike's forehead. The cop looked up at Buffy and Faith with a sneer, the anger in his eyes accentuated by the bruises on his face.

"We done here?" he asked.

"Hardly," Faith shook her head. "Cause that didn't kill him."

"No." Esposito holstered his gun. "But it buys you time to take him somewhere else, maybe get some answers out of him."

"Not to mention, it adds to your paperwork," Ryan added. "Nice job discharging your weapon, Javi."

While the two men started bantering back and forth with one another, Buffy glared at Faith and let their shoulders bump on her way past. "We're not done here," she practically growled, grabbing Spike by the collar of his coat and dragging him off into the night.

Faith craned her head to the side, until an audible _pop_ sounded, before cracking her knuckles.

"Damn right, we're not."

* * *

_January 2, 1999…_

It wasn't all that unusual for William Bracken to still be in his office long after the sun had gone down for the night. Assistant District Attorney in New York City was probably one of the busiest jobs there was, and Bracken was even busier since he was mulling over a potential run at Congress - to say nothing of his other endeavors.

Ascending was a long, arduous process, one that tested a man's patience as much as anything else. Bracken's patience had been tested several times in the decades since he first set foot on American soil, and if nothing else, holding down a job such as this kept him busy enough that the slog of reaching a higher plane of existence wasn't quite so tedious.

Still, as he read over the Ky-laag Scrolls, Bracken couldn't help but lament the fact that he was still probably twenty years or so away from his ultimate destiny. People in the know around him told Bracken he was White House material; his ambitions were a little higher than that.

The sound of the door to his office opening caught Bracken's attention, and he felt the anger rising in his chest as the sight of the three men entering. Bracken slipped the scrolls back into their place in his drawer, undoing the cuffs of his pressed white dress shirt before leaning back in his chair.

"Raglan, shut the door," he ordered with a scowl. "You've got a lotta balls, coming here."

"Look," the black man with the mustache, Roy Montgomery, said with his hands up in a defensive posture, "we just want to make sure we're all on the same page." He approached the desk, hands in his pockets. "You took us for a lot of money, Bracken. We want assurances."

Bracken pushed out of his chair and jabbed a finger into Montgomery's chest. "Hey, be happy I haven't busted the three of you for your little mafia extortion ring!"

Now _there_ would be a way to ensure winning an election.

"Whoa, relax…" Montgomery took a step back.

"Uh-uh. No… no," Bracken approached the three men again. Raglan and McCallister each looked like they were about to throw down - Raglan was even scratching his knuckles - but Montgomery clearly wanted no part of this. Bracken sneered; he was the weak link. "You want assurances? Here you go: I _assure you_ that as easily as I pinned Bob Armen's murder on Pulgatti, I can just as easily pin it on the cops that actually _did the deed_!"

Stepping between the other two cops and Bracken, Montgomery shook his head. "Pulgatti knows he's been framed. What if someone gets on to this?"

Bracken shrugged. "Then I'll handle them."

"You?" Montgomery cocked his head to the side. "How?"

"I know people, Roy." This time, Bracken got right up into Montgomery's face. "_Dangerous_ people. Anyone gets too close, like that bitch lawyer Johanna Beckett who's been poking around, I'll have them killed."

Another shrug of nonchalance before Bracken went back behind his desk, standing in front of a makeshift liquor counter. He grabbed a pristine glass, threw in two ice cubes, and poured himself a swig of amber liquid before raising the glass in a toast.

"I've had people killed before."

The three cops all shared a nervous and uncertain glance before Montgomery approached the desk again. "You're not worried it'll trace back to you?"

Bracken shook his head and downed his drink in one gulp. "There is no tracing these people." Bracken's eyes narrowed as he set the glass down on his desk. "And if I hear that any one of you blabbed about this… I can have your body dropped off at Evelyn's doorstep."

Fear and cold realization filled Montgomery's eyes, and he backed away from the desk with his shoulders slumped. Looking over his shoulder, Montgomery gave a nod before the other two detectives reluctantly walked out. Raglan was still looking for a fight, glaring over his shoulder before the door shut behind him.

"Are we clear, Roy?"

For a moment, Montgomery's hands curled into fists again, but he unfurled them and forced another nod. "Yeah. Yeah, we're clear."

Bracken smiled to himself as Montgomery shut the door, unaware that the cop had pushed the _stop_ button on a tape recorder that had been hidden in his blazer. Bracken picked up his office line, pushing a button and pouring himself another drink. Swirling the amber liquid around, the Assistant DA's smile grew when the line connected.

"Holland Manners," he greeted. "William Bracken. How's the wife?

"Excellent… listen, I need a favor.

"Johanna Beckett. Yeah, that's the one. The messier, the better. Don't worry about covering it up or anything.

"Perfect. Then I guess we'll both get something out of this one. I appreciate it."

Bracken's smile grew bigger still as he hung up the phone, downing his drink with a hiss. It was a shame that Joe Pulgatti would have to spend the rest of his life in prison – in another life, he could've made a fine lackey. But Bracken's future hinged on several factors: one of those being that no one could tie him to this mafia kidnapping ring.

If that meant he had to have three deadbeat cops help fund his Congressional campaign and let some vampire off a bullshit civil rights lawyer in an alley somewhere, then so be it.


	27. Chapter 27: How Far

_**Author's Note: Just when I think this fic can't get any more fun to write... it does. I love mixing these two disparate universes together, and I hope you're enjoying it too. Please leave reviews!**_

_**Submitted for #CastleFanficMonday. Last Monday of hiatus!**_

* * *

_Parts Unknown…_

"Man, how long is this freak gonna be out for?" Javier Esposito shook his head and his upper lip curled into a sneer before he kicked at Spike's feet. The vampire was still unconscious, a bullet from Esposito's service piece buried in his brain and a small trail of red running from the bullet hole down the side of his nose.

The two women - vampire slayers named Buffy and Faith - had stared at each other in tense silence since leaving the alley in which they had found Spike. There was a past between the blonde and the brunette, that much was certain, and there appeared to be a past between the blonde and the vampire as well.

Not that Esposito cared about any of that. He just wanted to know what prompted the vampire to burst into their police station, kill two uniformed officers, and jab a letter opener into Roy Montgomery's neck. Hell, Esposito had half a mind to take care of all of this himself.

"There better be some answers soon," he warned despite the throbbing in his temples. "Or I'm gonna stake this fucker myself."

With a shrug, Faith Lehane pushed herself off the far wall and shrugged, practiced nonchalance screaming from her every gesture in spite of the fear in her dark eyes. She purposefully avoided everyone's gaze - Buffy's especially.

"You want answers, Javi?" she quipped. "Get in line. There's a lotta fuck-all going on here."

"Spike changed," Detective Ryan said from the far corner, cradling his broken wrist against his chest. "The second he connected Captain Montgomery to Beckett, it became personal for him."

"Spike is an obsessive," Buffy muttered, never once tearing her gaze from the vampire tied to a rusty chair, his head listed to the right. His ankles were tied to the front legs of the chair, his hands tied together behind the back. She kept a stake at the ready on her hip, not unlike the way the detectives wore their guns.

Her stomach churned at the sight of Spike, the weight of so many memories pushing down on her. All those times he tried to kill her, the way he leered over her, obsessed over her like a predator who would not let its prey go. To this day, she couldn't believe she once let him touch her.

To this day, she couldn't believe he survived the destruction of the Hellmouth.

"First time he found out what a Slayer was, he was obsessed," she added. "Killed two of them before we ever met. Lost count of how many times he promised to drink from my vein like it was a tap."

Esposito arched a suspicious brow. "And you never dusted him why?"

"Bit complicated, mate," Spike grumbled, his eyes barely open now that consciousness had returned. He clenched his jaw, sucking in his cheeks and calling more attention to those prominent cheek bones. The searing pain returned to his forehead, even as he felt the wound healing itself. "Untie me and I'll tell you."

Esposito pulled his gun again. "Give me a reason, jackass."

Faith strode toward the vampire before hoisting a leather-clad leg over him and straddling Spike's lap. Grabbing the back of Spike's head with her right hand, Faith grit her teeth and shoved her left index finger into the bullet wound. Spike gasped and writhed in pain as her finger sank deeper into his head before finding the blunt end of the bullet.

"Can a vampire go braindead?" she asked, ignoring the shocked looks of the other Slayer and the two cops. "If I pushed this bullet all the way into your brain, would you turn into a vegetable?"

Spike's hands balled into fists and his wrists tugged on their restraints, his entire body going rigid at the pain. Esposito kept his service piece trained on the vampire, while Ryan and Buffy stood a fair distance back, watching with worried gazes but not particularly eager to act.

"Tell us what we wanna know," Faith ordered, "or I start my little experiment."

Spike grunted in pain, the act of his face shifting to the demonic visage causing even more pain in the bullet wound. His yellow eyes looked like they were on fire, and Faith smirked because she knew that he would do so many unspeakable things to her if he managed to break free. But seeing as how he wasn't getting out of that chair any time soon…

Faith took sick pleasure in Spike's grunt of pain when she added pressure to the bullet. "What's your beef with Detective B?"

Spike snarled, his nostrils flaring. "She fascinates me."

"I don't believe you," Buffy said from behind Faith. "I know you, Spike. Good you, evil you, annoying reluctant sidekick you. You honestly expect me to believe you came back from the dead and your first instinct wasn't to find me?"

Spike's jaw set again, his wound throbbing around Faith's finger. "Maybe I got over you."

"Bullshit," Faith hissed. "So let's start at the top. Who brought you back?"

Spike stopped grunting in pain, clamping his mouth shut and giving Faith a smug grin, the taunting in his eyes as evident as the anger had been just moments before. Even when she pushed at the bullet again, the vampire's expression didn't change.

The sound of Esposito's gun cocking filled the otherwise silent room, and the metal pressed into Spike's temple. "What I wouldn't give for wooden bullets right now," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Answer her question."

"It's a complicated question," Spike teased. "But it involves a certain Senator and his pet law firm."

Ryan's brows scrunched in confusion. "Law firm?"

"Wolfram &amp; Hart," Faith guessed with a shake of her head, ignoring Spike's pained whimper when she quickly withdrew her finger. "Should've fuckin' known."

* * *

_Castle's loft…_

Alexis Castle sighed as she peered through the crack in the door to her father's bedroom, where Richard Castle was spooning Detective Beckett as they slept. The bags under Kate's eyes were red and heavy, and the way her shoulders hunched as she slept told the teenager that it was a fitful sleep.

That, on top of the fact that it was now three in the afternoon, told Alexis that something was seriously wrong. She briefly wondered if whatever had driven her father and the detective to a sleepless night and restless sleep was the same thing that brought Rupert Giles to New York, but part of Alexis wasn't so sure she wanted the answers.

Tear streaks were still evident on Kate's face. Her soft, whisper-like snores were far more peaceful than her body language suggested, though the occasional whimper escaped. The first time Alexis heard one such whimper, she could see her father's hand tighten its hold on Kate's shoulder.

"Your tea is ready," a soft British accent whispered in her ear from behind, and Alexis offered a soft smile before following Giles through her father's office, the living room, and into the kitchen. A steaming mug awaited her on the island, and Alexis felt the tension in her shoulders relax after the first sip.

Giles stood across from her, stirring a small spoon in his mug, his glasses low on his nose.

"Unlce Rupert," Alexis began, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and using the term of endearment she had for Giles back when he had first met her father. "You're here because of whatever's upset Detective Beckett, aren't you?"

Setting his spoon down with a sigh, Giles nodded. "Unfortunately. I'm afraid things are progressing far faster than I had anticipated."

"You don't have to hide things from me," Alexis said between sips. "I know Beckett's a Slayer, and I know vampires exist and… it actually helps some things make more sense."

Giles quirked a brow. "How so?"

Alexis cradled her mug with both hands, letting the warmth soak into her palms. It was always soothing, and sometimes she relished the sensation even if she wasn't cold. She watched steam rise from her tea and curl into itself, her eyes narrowing briefly before her gaze finally flickered back up to Giles.

"I've been having dreams," she admitted. "Started a few months ago. Really weird dreams, where I was always fighting. Vampires, demons, all sort of monsters. Sometimes, I'm in the present. Sometimes, I'm in some ancient village wearing a dress that goes all the way to my ankles and I'm wielding a sword that weighs as much as I do."

Giles opened his mouth to speak, but Alexis pressed on. "Like, I'm this kickass Van Helsing and I'm slaying vampires and I'm saving the world, but… sometimes I die. Sometimes, I see the end coming, but there's nothing I can do to stop it."

Giles set down his mug. "Well…"

"At first, I thought it was because I wasn't sleeping enough, or because I was eating too soon before bed, but even after accounting for all of that, the dreams keep coming. And they're so vivid. Like, I can still feel how sharp that sword is. I can still smell the stench of death when a vampire closes in on me."

The teenager huffed a sigh, taking another sip. "I thought I was going mad."

"I can assure you," Giles finally got a word in edgewise, "that you are not."

A rueful smile crossed Alexis' lips. "Well, I know that _now_. Buffy already explained a little bit to me. About how Slayers used to be all solitary and stuff."

The smile that crept onto Giles' face whenever someone mentioned Buffy Summers was automatic, not unlike the pride with which Castle would talk about his own daughter. Being Buffy's Watcher had turned out far better than Giles could've imagined - even if he only focused on the fact that she was still alive.

Most Slayers were lucky to last a couple months. Buffy had survived well into adulthood.

"Is that what's gonna happen to me?" For the first time since the conversation started, worry etched its way onto Alexis' face. "Am I a Slayer?"

"You very well could be," Giles explained. "Willow's spell turned all of the world's Potentials into Slayers. The fact that you have been experiencing the dreams and the premonitions of the Slayer suggests you are a Potential."

Alexis' shoulders sagged. "Dad is _so_ gonna freak."

Giles chuckled in spite of himself, removing his glasses. "Yes, I imagine he will. But here's where you and most of the Slayers of the past are different," Giles interjected, crossing to the other side of the island so that he was sitting next to Alexis. "You have a choice. Alexis, there are thousands of Slayers in the world. But by my estimate, most of them either don't realize the power they have or they've decided not to use it."

Alexis frowned in confusion. "Why?"

"Because Buffy's idea gave the world's Potentials the one thing she never had: a choice. Alexis, you can be a Slayer if you so choose. I would guide you, if you wanted, and you already know three Slayers who could train you."

Alexis blanched at that before taking another sip. "I don't know if fighting's my thing."

"Then perhaps you can use your knowledge for other purposes," Giles offered. "When I was in the Academy, a lot of Potentials traveled to London to study and train. And most who never became Slayers turned into Watchers instead."

"Watchers," Alexis repeated with an arched brow.

"We… guide the Slayer," Giles explained. "We train her, we serve as her mentor, for lack of a better word. I was once Buffy's Watcher; I would provide the intel and the research and she would be the one to go out there and fight the monsters."

Alexis shook her head, partly to take in the fact that Giles was far more than some random expert her father had called upon while doing research for a Derrick Storm novel when she was younger. Giles had been friendly to her back then, hence her name for him, happy to read to her or play with her while Castle was writing.

"Men sitting back while teenage girls did all the fighting?" Alexis asked in an accusatory tone.

"It was an archaic system, I agree. But like I said, thanks to Buffy, you now have a choice that she and so many other Slayers never had."

"I'm a sophomore in high school," Alexis lamented. "I don't even know what college I want to go to yet."

"Nobody is forcing you to decide today, Alexis. You might even decide that you want nothing to do with a life that involves demons and end-of-the-world prophecies. And that would certainly be your prerogative."

"Will you help me?"

"Of course I will," Giles answered with a warm smile. "However far you decide to take this."

* * *

_Underneath Wolfram &amp; Hart…_

William Bracken stood in the center of a cavernous basement, shirtless and scowling at the floor. A large circle surrounded him, and his feet stood in the center of the Mark of Ky-laag. He sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself before bringing a ceremonial dagger to the palm of his right hand and slicing it open.

Blood poured onto the floor, even as Bracken never expressed any pain he might be feeling. As soon as his blood hit the floor, the circle encasing him erupted in a wall of blue flame. The heat was almost enough to singe his skin off - were he still wearing the flesh of a mere mortal who was destined to wither and die in seventy years or so.

Instead, the heat was but a nuisance, though the flames reached for the ceiling as the blood continued to pour. Bracken squeezed his hand into a tight fist, even more blood oozing from the cut.

The flames danced around Bracken and a high-pitched snarl pierced his ears.

"Hear me, O Great Ky-laag!" Bracken shouted in a tongue no one on Earth could decipher. "I call thee to me! I call your power to me! I beseech you, Ky-laag, to do my bidding! Use me as your Earthly vessel!"

The shrieks turned into blood-curdling screams and snarls of terror, echoing through the spacious chamber. Aside from the flames, the space was pitch black. Bracken stared skyward, his arms out on either side of him. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, a smile spreading across his face when he felt the warmth against his skin.

Time drew ever closer. He could see the proverbial finish line after all these years.

In just a few more weeks, nothing on this world would be able to stop him.

_Who DARES summon me?!_

Bracken's eyes opened, pure black. "I do! I call upon thee, Ky-laag! I shall be the one to bring you back to this dimension, so you can take your rightful place as ruler once more!"

_What makes you think you are worthy, mortal?_

"I have completed the trials! I have devoted the last seventy years to you! I have devoured your offspring and I can feel them fusing my organs together!"

_No human is worthy of my power. NONE!_

Before Bracken could react, the flames closed in on him. They engulfed the Senator until he screamed in agony, falling to his knees and cradling his arms over the back of his head. His flesh did not burn easily, but the flames were still leaving their mark, growing in heat and intensity as they devoured William Bracken's human form.

But after that first scream, Bracken went silent. He uncurled himself, closing his eyes and seeming to relish in the pain. He let the flames do what they had to do, scarring his chest and his back and slicing through the side of his neck.

Then, the flames disappeared. Bracken fell to his back, panting from exhaustion. His skin was charred. His eyes had returned to their human color. He stared at the ceiling, gasping for air yet unable to keep the smile off his face.

"I," he wheezed, "I am worthy."

_Perhaps. You have passed the first trial. But be forewarned, no one has survived the second._

Bracken clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. "Bring it."


	28. Chapter 28: Standing Up

_**Author's Note: So. Much. Fun! Keep reading and reviewing, guys!**_

* * *

_Castle's loft…_

The sun was starting to set on another day - a day, blissfully enough, devoid of interruptions. Kate Beckett's phone had not rung once all day, which surprised Castle. With her captain dead and the Twelfth Precinct in shambles, he would've expected a constant string of phone calls and texts, particularly from the boys.

But one text earlier that morning from Detective Ryan to Castle's phone inquiring about Kate's well-being was all they had received. Castle had answered that she was as fine as she could be, all things considered, and received a short reply.

And then nothing.

Maybe Ryan and Esposito were working on something of their own. For that matter, he wondered where the other two Slayers were. Buffy and Faith had been quiet in their own regard since Faith had first told Castle the news about Captain Montgomery. But with Spike on the loose, and Senator Bracken still out there doing God knew what, it seemed everyone was too busy to check in.

Which was fine. Castle appreciated the quiet. And the longer Kate slept, the better he felt. It was far from a restless sleep; just two hours ago, she had broken him out of his slumber with a pained whimper, something in her head driving her to tears even in her sleep. Castle's heart crushed at the sound and the look of anguish on the detective's face, and it took all the self-control he had not to wrap her into his arms as tightly as possible.

Even now, the thought brought the sting of emotion to Castle's eyes.

Even when he slipped his arm out from under Kate's side and crawled out of bed, she slept. Sheer exhaustion overrode everything else right now, and Castle was content to let her rest for as long as necessary. Mostly because if she was here, in his bed asleep, then she was as safe as she could be.

It was ironic, a regular joe like Castle keeping a super-powered monster fighter safe, but who would Castle be if he didn't appreciate a good dose of irony every once in a while? His stomach growling, Castle made his way into the kitchen, casting a glance at the tweed blazer draped over the back of his couch. Giles was upstairs in the guest room, asleep, and Alexis had likely already turned in for the night.

Just as Castle went to open the fridge, there was a knock at his door. With a frown, Castle slowly approached the door and paused by the stairwell to grab a baseball bat he had hidden there in recent days. Not that he could do much with it if what was on the other side of the door was truly threatening, but at least it made him feel better.

Swinging the door open, Castle's face contorted into a confused frown when he saw the dark-clothed man standing in the hallway, hands stuffed into the pockets of a billowy black coat.

"Angel?"

"Castle." Angel's dark eyes scanned the loft from over the writer's shoulder. "Is Kate here?"

Castle's shoulder deflated and he had to force himself to repress a sigh and lean the bat against the wall. Of course Angel would be here looking for Kate; why else would he show up? Castle glanced up the staircase leading to Alexis' room, grateful there was still silence. Turning back to the vampire standing at his door, Castle fought to keep his voice low.

"I don't think seeing her is a good idea right now," he whispered.

"I have something for her," Angel argued, stepping across the threshold into the loft. "Something she needs to see."

Rolling his eyes and shutting the door behind Angel, Castle shook his head. "I'll be sure to tell her when she wakes up."

"Tell her now."

"I'm sorry," Castle responded, moving to stand in front of Angel again and folding his broad arms across his chest, "but when she was in tears and needing someone, who did Kate come to? Hm? _You?_"

Yeah, it was childish and petty. But Castle didn't care.

Angel's eyes averted briefly before a flash of anger overcame them. His already considerable brow furrowed, and Castle could see the small twitch in his temples. _Oh, let this guy change into his vampire face in the middle of my house. I welcome it._

"I was investigating," Angel replied.

"And how's that going for you?" Castle turned to go back to the kitchen, hoping to put as much distance between himself and his bedroom as possible. He really didn't want what was sure to become an argument to wake Kate up; the last thing she needed was to find Angel standing in the middle of the loft.

Granted, Castle's reasons for that were completely self-serving.

"Have you found Spike yet?" Castle's eyes narrowed. "Have you staked him? Have you made him pay for killing Captain Montgomery and two other police officers?"

"This is more than just -"

"Yeah. I know." Castle's jaw clenched and he approached the island in the middle of his kitchen, glad it was situated between himself and the vampire. "I'm well aware of this… grand conspiracy your Billy Idol's gotten himself into. Now normally, I love a good conspiracy. Made a pretty good living on them. But this?"

"I was at the crime scene," Angel explained, keeping his annoyance in check. "After they had already moved Roy's body to the morgue. I found something underneath Kate's desk, something I think might be the key to figuring out who killed Johanna Beckett."

"You're poking around that case again?" Castle's eyebrows shot up.

"Look, Spike killing Roy wasn't random." Angel's brow furrowed even more and he pulled a hand out of his pocket to place a mini cassette tape on the island.

"I know." Castle's eyes immediately went to the tape. "Have you listened to that?"

Angel shook his head. "I was saving it for Kate."

Studying the vampire as best he could, Castle had to fight the urge to smirk and shake his head. He considered himself pretty good at reading people, and though Angel wasn't _technically_ a person, he was still easy to read. Especially when it came to Kate.

"How old are you?" Castle asked. "I mean, seriously… you think this tape is gonna get her back? You think you can walk in here with a peace offering and she's just gonna… forget everything that led you guys to break up in the first place?"

Angel's shoulders tensed. "That's not -"

"You don't deserve her, and she doesn't deserve you. She deserves to be happy, Angel. She could be happy."

That word - _happy_ \- still rubbed Angel the wrong way. The memory of his curse, the memory of what having that curse lifted did to the woman he loved and those she cared for. Of all the crosses Angel had to bear over the centuries, that was probably one of the hardest. For all of the "acceptable happiness" he had found with Kate, to borrow an old friend's phrase, some of part of him knew it was doomed.

Some part of him knew that Castle was right. But he'd never say it.

Angel crossed to the other side of the island and closed the distance between himself and the writer. Once he was face-to-face with Castle, Angel let his features shift. Hardened ridges on his forehead, yellow feral eyes, and fangs protruding from his upper gum. "Is that where you come in, _Rick_?"

"I think that's her call," Castle argued, offering no reaction to Angel's change.

Angel grabbed Castle by the collar, a low growl pouring out from the back of his throat. "I could say the same to you."

"Yeah, but here's the thing." Castle reached up to grab Angel by the wrist, eventually pulling the cold hand off of his collar. Angel wasn't really trying to harm Castle, because if he really wanted to do that, he already would have. "Whenever she talks about you, she gets all… tense. Her shoulders hunch. Her eyes go dark. She starts looking everywhere but at me. That sound like someone who's pining to get back together?"

"You've got her all figured out, don't you?" Angel snarled.

"Hardly." Castle's jaw set. "Fact is, Kate Beckett is a mystery I'm probably never gonna solve. But I know her well enough to know that you're not what she needs right now." He reached out to swipe the tape from the countertop before Angel could react. "So thanks for this, but now we've reached the part where I tell you to leave."

Angel's face shifted back to its human form and he shook his head. "You have no idea just how in over your head you really are."

"Oh, I have some idea," Castle said with a rueful smile, pocketing the tape. "But I also know that when things started going really bad, she came to me."

Which meant more than even Castle could properly articulate.

Pursing his lips with a nod, Angel glanced over his shoulder. He knew she was here, and not just because Castle had all but admitted it when he first showed up. Hell, Castle had practically thrown the fact in his face on a few occasions. But he could make out her faint scent the second he walked into the loft, and Angel hated the effect it still had on him.

He wanted to check on her. He wanted to see how she was doing. But it was clear now that Angel wasn't welcome here. So with a sigh, the vampire straightened the coat slung over his shoulders, shot Castle one last glare, and walked out of the loft.

As soon as the door to the loft clicked shut, Castle's phone started ringing. Cursing under his breath, Castle dug the device out of his pocket and frowned when he noticed that his caller ID was showing a blocked number. Part of Castle's psyche screamed for him not to answer, but curiosity ultimately got the better of him.

Castle sat at the island as he brought the phone to his ear. "Castle."

"_Richard Castle?_"

Castle frowned, not recognizing the voice. "Yeah, that's me."

"_You can call me Mr. Smith. I'm a friend of Roy Montgomery's. I'm afraid we need to talk._"

* * *

_Wolfram &amp; Hart…_

Lindsey McDonald didn't remember a day spent at the courthouse being so stressful or draining. Used to be, he lived for the trial process. Getting to stand in front of the jury, strutting about like he owned the place - because most of the time, he did. The courtroom was Lindsey's element, the whole reason he started practicing law in the first place.

But once Wolfram &amp; Hart started saddling him with special projects - the sort of thing no normal law firm would ever ask its attorneys to do. What had started as a cushy job protecting wealthy and influential clients had quickly devolved into prophecies and the Apocalypse and a meddlesome vampire who never quite got the hang of the word "no."

Even in death, Lindsey still found himself stuck in that world. So stuck, in fact, that the one place that used to bring him the most joy now sucked the energy out of him. The clock read fifteen minutes til midnight, and most people were probably at home and in bed by now - if not out and about town, enjoying a nightcap.

Lindsey? He was back in his office, prepping for a meeting he had first thing the next morning. The process of Ascension had begun, yet Senator Bracken had still insisted Wolfram &amp; Hart begin the process of filing the necessary paperwork for his SuperPAC. Why, Lindsey had no idea; if William Bracken was about to become the living embodiment of Ky-laag, why was he still eyeing the White House?

Lindsey removed his tie and shut the door to the office behind him, bathed in complete darkness save for the lamp on his desk. The computer dinged on-cue, signaling a new email. He sighed and rolled his eyes before tossing the tie onto his chair.

Before Lindsey had a chance to even register that there was someone else in his office, a blow socked him in the face and sent him stumbling back. Lindsey fell onto his ass, his back slamming against the door. Blood was already pouring from his nostrils and his vision blurred. Lindsey tried to grab at the carpeting to give himself leverage to get back to his feet, but a boot pressed into his neck and pinned him against the door.

By the time Lindsey's vision cleared - and he struggled to gasp for air with the pressure on his windpipe - he finally saw who had attacked him.

"Been a while, Lindsey," Faith said. "How ya been?"

Recognition wasn't instant, but once Lindsey realized who had attacked him, a knowing smile crept onto his bloody face. He had honestly expected to be reunited with the former rogue Slayer much sooner than this, considering the circumstances by which she had voided the contract Lindsey and Lilah Morgan had drafted for her.

Some assassin Faith had turned out to be. Hired to kill someone and she wound up living with her mark. At least, until she got a conscience and turned herself in. Shame, too.

"Nose hurts," he quipped.

"Plenty more where that came from." Faith removed the boot from Lindsey's neck, and he had honestly expected to feel a blow to the temple or something similar. But instead, the dark-haired woman kneeled before him, grabbing a tuft of his hair and yanking until it started coming loose from his scalp.

Lindsey hissed in pain. Of course. She wanted him conscious.

"I got some questions for you," she announced. "How much more pain you're in will depend on how you answer them."

Lindsey shrugged and couldn't stop the chuckle that burst from his mouth. "I died, Faith. There's nothing you could do that could be any worse than anything I've experienced."

"See, when you put it like that?" Faith yanked on Lindsey's hair again. "I hear a challenge."

"Whatever you're planning to do," Lindsey paused to spit blood onto the floor, "you better hurry. I'm sure our mystics have cued Security to the presence of a Slayer on the premises by now."

"I wouldn't worry about them," Faith said as matter-of-factly as she could. "The mystics now have knives where their eyes should be. Just you and me now, Lawyer Boy. So tell me… why'd you bring Spike back?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The force of the fist ramming into his gut doubled Lindsey over - and if he had actually eaten that day, the contents of his stomach would be all over the floor by now. She yanked him upright again by the back of his head before he could gather his bearings, and the force was almost enough to give him whiplash.

"Let's try this again," Faith hissed. "Spike. Why?"

"That's really a question for the good Senator," Lindsey muttered, smiling in spite of the throbbing in his head and the blood starting to dry on his chin.

"Senator Bracken," Faith theorized. "He's a client."

"Boy, nothing gets past you." Lindsey huffed a laugh before spitting blood onto Faith's cheek.

Without even flinching, she pulled a dagger from the belt loop in the back of her jeans, pressing the blade against the lawyer's neck. Her nostrils flared and her jaw clenched. "And what about Detective Beckett? Hm?"

Something flashed in Lindsey's eyes – maybe hatred, maybe something a little deeper – and he sat up a little straighter. He ignored the pain as best as he could, even if he could see spots in his eyes and it felt any moment like he might black out.

"Kate Beckett is… a nuisance," he growled. "A pain in everyone's ass, and we'll all be better off the second she's reunited with her mother."

Faith's eyes darkened and she tightened her grip on the dagger. She could feel herself shaking with rage, a potent mixture of adrenaline and pent-up anger she hadn't felt in years. She twirled the blade in her grasp and shook her head.

"Congratulations, Lindsey."

Lindsey's brow furrowed. "For what?"

Lindsey slid the dagger into Lindsey's gut, grinning to herself when his eyes went wide and he gasped in pain. His entire body went rigged, and Lindsey's lower lip quivered. Faith grit her teeth and shoved the weapon deeper into the lawyer's body, twisting the blade until he arched his back and whimpered.

"I haven't wanted to kill someone in a long, long time," she whispered, withdrawing the dagger and holding it up so Lindsey could see the blood dripping down to the hilt. "And if you keep coming after Detective B, I'll finish the job."

Faith kicked Lindsey's body to the side and pushed her way out of his office, leaving the lawyer in a pool of his own blood.


	29. Chapter 29: Shindig

_**Author's Note: Sorry for the length of time between chapters; I guess this is what happens when you're juggling four fics, three novels, and a full-time job. But I'm back, so enjoy!**_

_**Also, my new novel BLOOD TIES is available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback!**_

* * *

Two weeks had passed since Angel had left the audio recording with Castle, and the more time passed, the more the writer wondered if he was doing the right thing in keeping it a secret. Though things had calmed down considerably in that time, Kate was still emotionally ragged. Burying Captain Montgomery had left the entire Twelfth Precinct in a fog, Castle included, and her mother was still a touchy subject.

So for now, Castle decided to keep the tape hidden away in the safe in his office. He would tell Kate about it soon, and despite his curious nature, Castle hadn't given the tape a listen. The first time he would hear it would be the first time Kate would hear it.

But that was a thought for another night. Tonight was the launch party for _Heat Wave_, Nikki Heat's debut novel and what Black Pawn was billing as the resurrection of Castle's career. Everyone from the Twelfth had been invited, and it appeared Detectives Ryan and Esposito were already taking advantage of the open bar.

So was Faith, determined to drink Esposito under the table. She was well on her way to doing so, largely because Esposito couldn't keep his eyes from staring at the cleavage Faith's dress put so proudly on display.

Buffy and Giles had declined their respective invitations; Buffy was too consumed with tracking down Spike again, while Giles had removed his glasses, using the hem of his shirt to rub the lenses as he muttered something about his books.

But whatever. So long as Kate showed up…

As launch parties went, this one was rather tame. Maybe it was a case of Castle outgrowing his reputation; as he got older, the less enamored he was with the throngs throwing themselves at him. The harder it became to turn that charming smile on like a switch and just dive into the bad-boy persona.

But was it age that had done that to Castle, or something else entirely? Considering everyone was milling about, enjoying drinks and hors-d'oeuvres, while he was seated near the back with his eyes practically glued to the entrance…

"So," the voice of his manager, Paula, cut through Castle's concentration, "when can we expect the next book?"

Castle arched a brow. "You sound just like Gina."

Paula shrugged and downed the rest of her martini before playing with the toothpick on which an olive had been impaled. "Hey, it's not _my_ fault bookstores are already calling in secondary orders. You're hot shit again, Ricky. How about embracin' that a little?"

"You mean go out there and sign some chests?"

Another shrug. "You could start with mine. Or maybe that girl over there in a shiny hi-hugging number who's drinking your cop buddy under the table."

Castle watched Faith down a shot in one gulp, grinning where most others would hiss as the alcohol slid down her throat. A light smile tugged on the writer's lips, but before it could manifest, a commotion gathered near the entrance. Photographers were climbing over each other near the front door, flashbulbs exploding one after the other.

Everyone screamed over one another, so much so that their chorus of voices was largely indistinguishable. But the occasional _Nikki Heat!_ emerged from the din, and Castle felt his heart rate pick up…

…only to stop completely when he caught sight of Kate Beckett. If Paula considered Faith's dress, hip-hugging, then what would she call what the detective was wearing. The blue number stopped mid-thigh, and the plunging neckline was enough to make Castle do a double-take. The dress contrasted nicely with Kate's short-cropped red hair, and even if she was apprehensive of all the attention she was getting for her entrance, she was still stunning.

Even if she wasn't the inspiration for Nikki Heat, Kate Beckett would certainly be turning heads tonight.

Paula let her eyes track to where Castle was staring, her mouth eventually dropping before she set aside her empty glass. "Holy freakin'… is that her?"

Castle pursed his lips and nodded.

"_That's_ your Nikki Heat?"

"The one and only," Castle muttered, setting his half-empty beer aside before standing and abandoning the bar. He weaved his way through the crowd as carefully as he could, but his impatience led to the occasional elbow in someone's side. A few mumbled apologies later, Castle found Kate by a stack of _Heat Wave_ hardcovers.

She had a copy in her hands, staring at the front cover with a reverence that made Castle wish he could snap a photograph and keep that expression forever. Instead, the sight of her so transfixed in his work left Castle stunned speechless and unable to move. Then she opened the front cover, and Castle held his breath.

_To the extraordinary KB,_

_Who is capable of far more than I ever dreamed._

"Hey." He finally found his voice, and amazingly enough, it didn't fail him.

But oh, the way her face softened when she looked up and saw him… the way she kept the book cradled close to herself. For all of her protesting when Castle began shadowing her, it was pretty clear how much Kate's opinion had changed – not just on the idea of the book, but her opinion of Castle as a whole.

"Hey," she said with a brief smile before ducking her head. "I was just… the dedication, wow. I… thank you."

"I meant it." Castle took one more step toward her. "You are extraordinary."

The smile returned, brighter this time, before Kate lifted her eyes to meet Castle's. Her head tilted slightly to the right, and her eyes followed suit. Castle, seeing a lull in the crowd in the area in question, gave a broad smile and a nod, letting Kate lead the way, his hand ever so gently resting on the small of her back as they weaved their way through the revelers toward relative privacy.

Once they reached the spot in question, where the thumping music was fairly muted and there was no one to bother them, Kate took a seat at one of the circular booths in the corner. She placed the copy of _Heat Wave_ she had been cradling on the table, letting her fingers trail over the female silhouette on the cover.

"So the night we met," she offered as Castle slid into the booth beside her, "were you escaping a party like this?"

"No, that was… let's just call that night the end of my Bad Boy days and leave it at that."

"Speaking of bad…" Kate inched herself close to Castle, their thighs almost touching. "Rumblings out of the Forty-Fourth that one of Wolfram &amp; Hart's best and brightest was attacked in his office the other night."

Castle briefly stiffened – first because the cherry and vanilla mix of Kate's scent was so damn intoxicating, and then because he really didn't want to talk shop right now. This was supposed to be a fun, celebratory night.

"You happen to know anything about that, Rick?"

Castle shook his head. "Any suspects?"

"Just a general description. Long brown hair, thin, way too fast and too strong to be an ordinary girl." Kate's eyes glanced out toward the revelers again, focusing on the bar where Esposito had apparently waved the white flag. Or perhaps more accurately, Ryan had thrown the white flag _for_ Esposito.

"Kate…"

"I'm not gonna arrest her, Castle," Kate reassured, her hand reaching out to cover his. "It's nice having someone like her on the team, someone who's willing to do the things I can't."

"Plus, it's not your jurisdiction," Castle added.

Kate broke into a big, toothy smile, her eyes full of mirth in a way Castle hadn't seen recently – if ever. "You really think that would stop me?"

"No." Castle's smile matched her own. "Don't think there's a force out there that could stop Kate Beckett."

* * *

_Elsewhere in the party…_

In a lot of ways, this particular shindig reminded Spike of the Bronze. Sure, the clientele was much older, the bar had more than its share of hard liquor, and those crispy fried onion flowers were nowhere to be seen, but the masses dressed to look as good as possible, and the veritable mixture of cologne and perfume was almost enough to throw off the vampire's senses.

Then again, his focus was more pointed than usual. He was after one person here, the one person he knew without a doubt would be at this party. He had a plan – a _good_ plan – and Spike was determined not to let his impatience get the better of him this time.

No, this called for a new, refocused Spike.

Weaving his way to the bar, Spike ordered the strongest drink he could. Leaning back against the hardwood countertop, he downed the shot in one gulp, resisting the urge to shift his face into the mask of the vampire as he scanned the crowd. The two detectives at the other bar were familiar, as was the woman entertaining them, but Spike wasn't here for them.

No… the cops were of little consequence. The woman… he'd deal with her later.

It took a while to sift through all the assorted scents filling Spike's nostrils. There were entirely too many people here, and were Spike in a more… feasting mood, he would thin the herd. Slaughter had its advantages, and it was even fun at times, but there was only one vein from which Spike wanted to drink on this night.

Downing one more shot, the vampire finally caught a whiff of what he was after. He glanced to his left, his face shifting to its demonic visage when he saw the life of the party and the other detective huddled up in a booth.

* * *

_The booth…_

"Thank you, Castle."

Looking at the woman sitting beside him, and resisting the urge to plant a soft kiss to the top of her head, Castle instead arched a brow. "What for?"

"For everything," she answered with a one-shoulder shrug, her gaze studying the crowd they had separated themselves from. "You could've bailed so many times, and no one would've blamed you."

It had become clear to Castle early in his days of shadowing Kate that he was far deeper over his head than he had expected, and that it wasn't really about research for his books anymore. Not that it ever really was; Castle had been intrigued by and smitten with Kate ever since the night they first met, and he was glad they had grown closer.

How much closer? Her hand was in his, and their thighs were touching, but… he didn't want to presume.

There was clearly _something_ there. Whenever things went south anymore, Kate more often than not sought out Castle's help or advice. She would normally be well within her rights to turn to someone like Buffy or Angel – individuals far better equipped for all the supernatural carnage going down – but she always went to him.

It moved Castle beyond words, but he also felt the weight of it. He knew his limitations, and the last thing he wanted to do was let her down.

Losing her would gut him, especially if it was his fault.

Kate looked up at Castle when she noticed he had been quiet for far longer than she was used to. Her lips quirked into a sideways grin, and she playfully nudged him in the side with her elbow. "Penny for your thoughts, Castle?"

"Angel came to see me the other night," he blurted out.

He could feel Kate flinch at the mention of the vampire's name, and she sat up a little straighter. The playful grin was gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and a look that was somewhere between dread and confusion. "What did he want?"

"He said he needed to see you," Castle explained, "that he had something to show you. Something he found after Captain Montgomery was killed that he said would shed light on whoever killed your mother."

The crease in Kate's brow deepened even more, as it normally did whenever her mother was mentioned, and as her hand came off of Castle's, she slowly began to put distance between the two of them. "And when were you going to tell me this?"

"I'm telling you now," Castle placated, reaching out for her hand again.

"What gives you to the right?" Kate was standing now, her hands coiled into fists. The anger was coming off of her in waves. "How could you _do this_? Hiding information from me about the most important thing in my life?"

Castle pushed himself out of the booth. "Kate…"

"No!" Kate's eyes were filled with tears, but she wasn't about to let them fall. Not here. "You should've told me, Castle!"

"What, so you could run head-on into this thing, damn the consequences?"

Kate's jaw clenched and she shook her head. "Why don't you want me to get justice for my mom?"

"That's not it," Castle argued, "and you know it. I just don't want you to lose yourself."

"Last I checked, that's _my_ call. My life is not your personal jungle gym."

"Beckett –"

"Tomorrow, you will give me what you've been hiding," Kate straightened her posture even more and sucked in a deep breath, as if she were trying to psych herself up for something. "And then this partnership of ours is over."

With that, Kate turned to walk out of the party. Castle considered following – hell, his brain practically screamed for his chase after her. But she was pissed off, possibly armed, and had Slayer powers. So Castle stood completely still, mouth agape and mind racing in a futile effort to piece together the past few minutes.

Where had he gone wrong? Had he misjudged in keeping that tape a secret? She certainly thought he should've come to her right away, even if she was in the midst of grieving her professional mentor.

So in that regard, Castle could understand her anger. But could they really be over?

His stomach churned at the thought.

Having lost whatever party mood he had left, Castle decided to sneak out the back exit and head back home. The tab had already been paid, the autograph session had already come and gone. All that was left was for the revelers to take advantage of the two bars, and they would likely do so until they ran out of product.

Castle had plenty of drinks of his own back at the loft. To say nothing of the privacy he suddenly craved.

Pushing into the alley behind the hotel, Castle flipped the collar on his overcoat up to fend off the chilly night breeze. He hung a left and began the slow march back to his loft, completely unaware of the presence following from behind.

Just as Castle was about to hang a right, take the next alley that would spill out to a busy street three blocks from his loft, he felt a force knocking him down from behind. Castle grunted when he landed nose-first on the pavement, seeing stars as blood began trickling down his face. Castle didn't even have a chance to gather his bearings before whatever tackled him grabbed him by his coat and flipped him onto his back.

Blinking the remaining stars out of his eyes, Castle eventually saw a pale figure hovering over him, black t-shirt, jeans, and leather trenchcoat. Fangs shone in the moonlight, almost matching the platinum blonde hair atop the vampire's head. He snarled, the ridges on his forehead accented with a small scar in the center.

"'Ello, mate," the vampire greeted. "So… you're that writer bloke. Richard Castle, eh?"

Castle grit his teeth, in part in an effort to block out the pain, his hands reaching up to grab the vampire's wrists. But they wouldn't budge, no matter how hard he tugged.

"Name's Spike," the vampire growled. "You have something I want."


End file.
